With Prejudice
by SMKLegacy
Summary: COMPLETE: Mac and Sturgis go undercover as a married couple to investigate a Marine officer suspected of systematic discrimination. Harm doesn’t. Why? It’s complicated…
1. I

TEASER:  Mac and Sturgis go undercover as a married couple to investigate a Marine officer suspected of systematic discrimination.  Harm doesn't.  Why?  It's complicated…

DISCLAIMERS:  As much as I wish they were mine, the usual characters aren't; they belong to the inimitable Donald P. Bellisario, Bellisarius Productions, and Paramount Studios as well as the men and women who have brought them to life.  I'll return them when I'm done, I promise.

RATING:  PG-13, particularly for violence in parts 13 and 14, some sexual themes, and occasional language.

FEEDBACK/ARCHIVE:  I'd be flattered to hear from you (but I get enough flames at work)/Contact me via the e-mail in my profile for permission to archive, which would be even more flattering than feedback.

SPOILERS:  Anything is fair game up through the November 19, 2002 episode "When the Bough Breaks" and the December 17, 2002 episode "All Ye Faithful".  "The Killer", although well-written, couldn't be a real episode because THERE WAS NO MAC, so I'm ignoring it almost completely.

TIMELINE NOTES:  I've put the events of the end of Season 7 and the beginning of Season 8 in the summer of 2002 because Mikey Roberts was already a Midshipman at Annapolis when Bud was injured.  We're going to pretend that Mac's replacement arrived on the U.S.S. Seahawk prior to the ship's arrival in port "in two weeks", so I accept full responsibility for any errors in JAG storyline development – particularly the lack of crossover between Mac and Loren at JAG HQ before Loren took her 30 days' leave – and beg forgiveness ahead of time.  

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  I've included the local times in addition to the Zulu (Greenwich Mean) Time because we have JAG officers in two or three places at once throughout the story.  I've also given Sturgis Turner's father a first name and created a little bit of back story for Jack Keeter that may or may not be in line with the "canon" of the show.

=====

0845 Zulu/2245 Local  
NCIS-Pearl Harbor Satellite Office, Marine Corps Base Hawaii – 27 August 2002

NCIS Agent Kenneth Carrollton locked the office door from inside, then stepped out into the humid tropical night with a firm tug on the heavy glass portal behind him.  It was a good night; he had enough information now to go up the chain and press for the case that had possessed him since Christmas to be reopened.  Everything was safely stored away in the most obvious place possible and documented so defense lawyers would have a hard time proving bad technique or chain of custody issues; he had dates and names in his head that he intended to put on paper later tonight at home, the better to e-mail to a neutral party for safe keeping until he could plead his cause.

All these things flitted through his head as he made his way across the empty parking lot toward his personal car, a 12-year old Toyota Corolla he'd bought new during his first assignment as a Marine security guard at Barbers Point Naval Air Station and kept in storage until he returned three years later as a civilian to marry the woman of his dreams.  He knew, intellectually, that her death in early December of 2001 had led directly to his obsession with this particular case, but he would never admit the need to have a focus other than the demons which haunted him and taunted him with visions of the deadly traffic accident which had left him unscathed.  That they were out celebrating her first pregnancy after four years of trying made it all the worse.

Shaking his head to clear the unwelcome thoughts of his beloved and the child they never had, Carrollton unlocked his car and opened the door.

"Kenneth Carrollton?" a voice shouted at him from across the parking lot.

He turned, his mouth open to reply, but his answer died in the soft popping of a silenced pistol and the unerring accuracy of a single 9mm bullet entering his forehead.

=====

2310 Zulu/1310 Local  
Marine Corps Base, Hawaii – 20 November 2002

"Mr. Samir, I find that your religious practice interferes with the exercise of your duties," barked a Marine Colonel in the face of a younger officer.  "It is disruptive to good military order to have you running off to pray three or four times during a 12-hour shift and the fact that you flaunt your so-called piety in our faces adds to the injury."

The first lieutenant, a handsome Arab American, stood at stiff attention, holding himself in check with obvious effort against his commanding officer's tirade.

"I don't know who's worse, you or Captain Goldstein with his…Never mind.  As of today, you do not have permission to leave your duty station for prayers or any other religious observance and if your name comes up for Friday duty, you will stand it as a normal duty day.  Dismissed."

"Aye, sir!"  The lieutenant executed a smart about-face and marched out of the CO's office.  He barely acknowledged the Colonel's yeoman as he stormed past her desk and out of the headquarters building, heading straight for the Chaplain's office on the Navy portion of the sprawling military complex.  It didn't take him long to find the man he was looking for, and only a little longer to explain why he needed help.

The Imam, a Navy lieutenant commander, nodded thoughtfully after several moments of silence.  "I wish I could say this is the first I've heard of it, but we've been wondering if something like this was happening for about 12 months now.  Don't you worry, lieutenant.  I know just who to call.  We will have this taken care of shortly."

=====

1305 Zulu/0805 Local  
JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, Virginia – 21 November 2002

Rear Admiral AJ Chegwidden looked at his gathered staff over his reading glasses and pondered them each in turn as they settled in for the daily briefing.  

Lieutenant Loren Singer, now four months pregnant with someone's baby – he was pretty sure he knew whose despite her best efforts to keep the secret – was the most ambitious and the least deserving of the lot.  She had the potential to go far if she could ever learn the connection between teamwork and competition, although AJ suspected that behind the ruthless, overbearing persona was a very scared, very inadequate feeling child who could benefit from several years of psychotherapy.  She wouldn't be the first female JAG in the Navy, even if she did someday overcome all of her deficiencies to earn the position.  Someone else – perhaps even two someone elses – would get there first, and both were in the room.

Lieutenant Bud Roberts, absent from the table for a long time and so recently returned to limited duty, faced challenges of his own trying to earn permanent limited duty status with a prosthesis in place of his missing right leg.  Bud was the sentimental one of the bunch, the man who found something decent about every human being he ever met – including, on more than one occasion, Loren Singer – and who would be in his turn an exceptional occupant of the position AJ currently held, if only he could pass his physical tests.  AJ considered him a son and often wished the young man's own father would really come to understand just how incredible Bud was – and what a gift his wife Harriet and son little AJ were, as well.

Lieutenant Commander Tracy Manetti was still a bit of a mystery to the admiral.  The soft-spoken Virginian with the Harvard Law degree wanted no favors because of her father's relationship with the new Secretary of the Navy; she expected to earn whatever came her way and had proved thus far to be a good addition to the team.  Beyond that, he couldn't tell yet, but he was pretty sure she would make an excellent JAG herself if she made a career of the Navy.

Commander Sturgis Turner, the submariner turned lawyer whose father had once helped a young SEAL get through a bad Christmas in Vietnam, certainly won the award for most stable individual on staff.  Turner would never run off half-cocked to Russia in search of a missing family member or surprise him in the middle of the night with a phone call from jail after shooting a previously unrevealed spouse.  If AJ read Representative Bobbi Latham correctly, however, Turner would be the spouse of United States Senator Bobbi Latham-Turner in two years, which could be just as bad as anything the two remaining members of his legal staff had ever done.

Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr., Naval Aviator and JAG officer, was and in fact had been the recruiting poster man of the new Navy.  If Bud Roberts were the younger son the admiral had never had, Harm was the older one – brash, competitive, righteous almost to the point of insufferable at times, and extremely good at both his designators.  AJ vacillated along a continuum of amusement, anger, and disbelief at the antics of Commander Rabb, who kept the admiral guessing about 80% of the time as to what crusade he might be off on for the week.  At least it would always be in service of the truth with his partner's invaluable assistance.  Chegwidden wished he could manually extract the younger man's head from his six regarding said partner, the last person at the table.

Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie, known as Mac with rare exception, was all Marine.  AJ kept carefully hidden away from everyone else a part of him that wondered if her underwear were green like almost everything he ever saw her in, instead allowing himself to show that she was the daughter he could do better by than he had his own flesh and blood child.  Aside from that, Mac was his chief of staff – the best executive officer he'd ever had, in fact.  She would be the first female JAG if he had any say whatsoever in the process.  Smart, tough, loyal, and more dedicated to finding the truth in any case than winning it for her record, she completed and balanced her partner in every conceivable way.  And AJ was pretty sure that Mac knew her own feelings regarding Commander Rabb well enough not to make any more disastrous dating or marriage plans before the aviator could admit his own feelings in return.

All of which was to say that the two main cases on the table today would be most interesting to assign.  Whether he would live to see the sunset was an open question – but he thought he knew how to live at least until his usual coffee break, even if it came at the expense of a fellow flag officer's sleep.

"Updates?" he began, looking at Lt. Singer and laying his glasses down on the table upside down.

"Sir, the Harrison court martial will proceed to trial as Commander Rabb was unable to convince the petty officer that a plea bargain was in his best interest.  I apologize for the wasted time, sir, but it's inevitable."

AJ watched Rabb shift in his seat; Loren Singer had a way of phrasing things that left out the most pertinent details.  Or maybe Rabb just hadn't…

"Admiral, on the contrary, sir," the man began, right on cue.  "I have new evidence since the Article 32 that exonerates my client that the lieutenant will not accept.  I'm serving notice now on the prosecution of a motion to dismiss and we have a hearing with Captain Culler as soon as we're released."

It was unbecoming to one of his rank, but Admiral Chegwidden enjoyed watching the pesky pregnant lieutenant deflate at the senior officer's words.  She should have seen that one coming, especially from Rabb.  And he knew the senior litigator well enough to know that he wouldn't be presenting a motion to dismiss at this stage unless he had it sewn up, so that let two pieces of the puzzle fall into place.  "So either you two will be in for a quick trial or the case will be dismissed by lunchtime.  Very good.  Lieutenant Roberts?"

Bud smiled.  "Sir, I've finished up the filing and the research for Commander Turner and am available for whatever assignment you may have."

"Excellent."  Piece three clicked in.  "Commander Turner?"

Sturgis' barely audible sigh said it all.  "Sir, I have a filing deadline of 1700 tonight for the Fredriksen appeal, after which my case log awaits filling."

Piece four, and knowing Turner the appeal would be done and out the door before lunch.  "Commander Manetti?"

"I have nothing on my logs at the moment, Admiral, sir."  

Piece five slid home.  The newcomer sat up straighter in her chair and leaned forward, putting her elbows on the table and steepling her fingers together in anticipation, AJ thought.  It would wait.  "Colonel?"

"Yes, sir.  I have a disciplinary issue to discharge in-house and I'm still supervising the 'conduct unbecoming' investigation at Quantico with the Marine JAG candidates."

"When do you anticipate that the investigation will be completed, Mac?"

"Tomorrow, sir.  We're waiting to interview three witnesses who are out on maneuvers until late tonight, and we'll know after we've talked to them whether there's need for an Article 32 hearing or if we're dropping the charges."

So piece six would be delayed a day for full availability, but that partial time would help.  "Get the discipline issue taken care of this morning if you can, Colonel."

"Aye, sir."

The admiral let the six officers sit for a moment, knowing that they each wanted to know what would be next on their respective case logs.  He knew one of two would jump in and ask in any circumstance; today, he laid odds on the younger of the two.  Commander Rabb had developed a little self-control in that regard lately.

He wasn't disappointed.  Lt. Singer opened her mouth to speak twice before sound actually came out.  "Uh, sir, are there new cases to be distributed?"

"Yes, Lieutenant, there are."  He put his spectacles back on and opened up the top folder on the stack before him.  "The Shore Patrol at NAS Oceana arrested a pair of new Hornet pilots over the weekend for drunk and disorderly and assault-one for an altercation at the Officer's Club.  The charges of rape and assault with a deadly weapon are pending as of yesterday because a civilian guest of another officer has come forward and accused the two of rape.  NCIS is conducting the investigation."  The looks around the table were exactly what he expected, particularly from the three men.  "Lt. Roberts, you will prosecute whatever charges are brought with Lt. Cmdr. Manetti as second chair.  Lt. Singer, you will defend both men, assuming there is no need to sever the cases."

Turner looked away from Rabb and Mackenzie with a decidedly guilty countenance, the admiral noted.  Sturgis was the only one of the three who had actually requested that he never be assigned to work with the ambitious blonde again; that scene had been one worthy of Rabb's passion and revolved around the junior officer's deceit and borderline tactics at trial, AJ noted wryly to himself as he watched Harm and Mac struggle with what they each knew had to be coming.  "I will speak with the commanders and the colonel privately concerning the remaining assignments on this case and about the other new case.  Right now, you are all dismissed because I have a conference call with CINPAC."  He used the common spoken acronym for Commander in Chief, Pacific Fleet and heaved an inward sigh of relief that the call gave him until after his coffee break to consider his own mortality.

"Aye, sir!"  They rose as one and turned to leave, but Colonel Mackenzie lingered for just a moment as he gathered his folders and joined her at the door.

"Yes, Colonel?"

"Sir, it's 0336 at Pearl, sir.  Is everything alright?"

"I'll let you know, Mac.  Would it bother you, Colonel, if you needed to turn your supervision of the JAG candidates from Newport over to someone else for a while?"

His question took her by surprise, but consummate professional that she was, only her eyes gave her away to him.  "Bother me?  A little, I suppose, sir, but if I'm needed for other duties…"

He smiled – once again, exactly the answer he'd expected.  "Just have a suitable Marine officer as a backup in case I need to reassign you."

"Yes, sir."

=====

1555 Zulu/1055 Local  
JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, Virginia

"Tiner, get me Mackenzie, Rabb, and Turner," the admiral ordered over the intercom, expecting his yeoman to accomplish the task in minutes.  He did.

"Reporting as ordered, sir!" the three senior attorneys chorused as they stood at attention in front of his desk.

"At ease and take seats, please."  

The admiral waited while they settled, shaking his head at the seating arrangement – Harm moved quickly for the center seat when Mac sat down in the left hand chair.  AJ looked up to see Sturgis grinning like the proverbial Cheshire cat at his friend's antics and let his own smile mirror Turner's.  That was clear evidence of a sentiment like his own:  _Rabb, just get your rectal-cranial inversion corrected and get on with marrying the beautiful and very much in love Lieutenant Colonel Mackenzie._  There would be no untoward complications from the assignment he was about to give to Mac and Sturgis.

First, though, he would deal with Harm.  "Commander Rabb, I have reluctantly decided that it's time to let you try your hand at adjudicating cases."

The aviator-turned-lawyer had the grace to look stunned before he could reply.  "Thank you, sir.  It's a privil – "

Chegwidden held up his hand to stop the speech.  "Before you say anything further, let me tell you that you will be judging the case I've assigned to Mr. Roberts and Ms. Singer."

"Uh, sir, not to put too fine a point on it, but Lieutenant Singer and I are…"  The unspoken words said a lot and solidified the guess AJ could make as to the father of Singer's baby.

"I know.  And you and Lieutenant Roberts are closer to being true brothers than you and Sergei."

At the mention of his brother's name, Rabb grimaced.  His handsome face contorted in thought before the blue-green eyes met his CO's.  "Is this a test, sir?"

"Yes."  Better to be blunt and spell out the issues for the man, the former SEAL believed.  "I've told you before that I have doubts about your ability to remain impartial.  I think it's safe to say that if you can preside over this trial fairly, they you will have allayed my fears."  If the man could be fair in a case in which the defense attorney was a woman he despised yet who carried his brother's child and was, apparently, seriously considering an abortion, then he was truly the man of honor AJ believed him to be.

"Well, sir, I'll do my best."  It was a promise the admiral knew he could take to the bank, but would it be enough?  "I assume that Colonel Mackenzie will be sitting second chair to Lt. Singer."

AJ controlled the laugh that wanted to erupt.  This could be very good for a few minutes.  "You may assume that."

Mac's knuckles turned white with effort as she fought to keep herself from an inappropriate outburst.

"Sorry, Mac," Turner muttered just loudly to be heard, nodding in her direction.  More quietly with a quirked smile at the admiral, he added to his former roommate, "And you'd better wipe that smile off your face, Commander, before she decides you'd look better without it and removes it for you, judge or not judge."

"Sorry, sir, Mac," Harm whispered, settling his face into a more appropriate, somber expression.

"Your assumption, by the way, Commander, was incorrect.  Colonel Mackenzie will not be serving as second chair with Lt. Singer.  I will."

He allowed himself to laugh with Turner and Mackenzie at the expression of utter disbelief that crossed Harm's face at that announcement.

"Sir, I…I…you're joking, right, sir."  Not a question, a statement with authority.

"Oh, no, Commander, I am quite serious.  And on that note, you're dismissed and I will finish up with Commander Turner and Colonel Mackenzie in private."

Harm didn't question; he leapt from his chair, saluted with the proper acknowledgement, and exited.

The three laughed again.  "Admiral," Mac began, wiping her eyes after a moment, "that was priceless.  Thank you."

"You're welcome.  Now, I need to tell you about your next assignment."  He pulled a thin folder out from under another three or four and opened it to read from the lead sheet.  "We have been asked by the Chaplains' office at Pearl Harbor to investigate the CO of the Third Marine Regiment, Colonel Eugene Waters, on suspicion of religious persecution and racism.  Both the Imam and the Rabbi at Marine Corps Base Hawaii have had encounters of the less than friendly kind with the man and the Roman Catholic priest documents several instances of his parishioners being singled out for derogatory or discriminatory treatment that they wouldn't report up the chain for fear of reprisal."

Commander Turner shifted in his seat, seeing where this case was heading already.  "I can think of worse times of year to go to Hawaii, sir," he quipped.

"But not many worse reasons.  Commander, you and the Colonel will have your work cut out for you – if you choose to accept the assignment, which I'm making completely voluntary because of the particular nature of the investigation."  Both officers nodded their understanding; he went on.  "What I propose is that you go undercover as a Muslim couple."

Mac reacted more quickly than Sturgis did.  "Uh, sir, I understand the Islamic angle given what you've said.  Are you sure we should be married on this assignment and not just two new officers to the unit?"

AJ sat back a bit in his chair.  "We – that is, the chaplains and I along with CINCPACFLT – believe that several hate crimes that have been committed on base may be related to the regimental commander and a few other men at the base.  Commander Turner, you will be the S2 – Intelligence Officer – in the regiment.  Waters has a reputation as a misogynist and there are no women in the command structure of his headquarters company, so there isn't a way for us to get you in there, Mac, and since NCIS at MCB Hawaii has been ordered off the case by the base commander, the detachment at Pearl has been working slowly on the case.  Colonel, we'll build in professional criminal investigative work to your cover so you can get a legitimate job with NCIS.  The marriage will make you far less suspect than a new civilian arrival would be at this juncture."  He smiled.  "And it won't cost us any more because you can share a house." 

Mac smiled back; the budget was her responsibility.  "What's the worst case, sir?"  

Sturgis answered for his commanding officer.  "A white supremacist group that the CO either leads or belongs to.  And before you scoff, Colonel, I can assure you that backwards attitudes toward race, at the very least, continue among some in the military."

"Commander, I face those same backwards attitudes at least once a week because of my gender.  When do we leave, sir?"

AJ accepted Mac's agreement to go with a nod.  "Commander Turner?"

"I think Commander Rabb can be trusted to water my plants for a while, sir."

The admiral saw Mac wince at that but had no idea why she did so.  Ancient history with Commander Rabb, no doubt.  "Good.  Any extra time you have on your hands today I expect you to use to build your cover legends and to brush up on your Islam.  You'll be done with the appeal on time, Sturgis?"

"I should be able to courier the appeal over before I break for lunch, sir.  That will leave the afternoon free, Colonel, if you're available."

"I've assigned Petty Officer Phillips to thirty days extra duty and confined him to quarters for the breech of confidentiality, sir, which means that I'm all yours, Commander."

Glad that Commander Rabb wasn't there to hear Mac's statement, their CO ended the interview by passing the folder over to Mac.  "Despite the fact that you will be under cover as a civilian, Colonel, you will be lead investigator.  You will need to school the dolphin over there in how to be a jarhead, as well.  Plan to depart a week from tomorrow to be in place on 2 December.  Dismissed!"

Both officers came to their feet at attention and answered in unison.

"One more thing," the admiral added as the two opened the door.

"Sir?" Commander Turner queried for both of them as they turned back to face a grinning Chegwidden.

"Give me a five minute warning before you tell Commander Rabb."  He saw Mac roll her eyes and shake her head as she slipped out the door; the submariner grinned and gave a "thumbs up" gesture in complete understanding of the reasons for the request.


	2. II

_Disclaimers in part I._

1815 Zulu/1315 Local  
JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, Virginia

Tiner's voice came over the intercom.  "Admiral, Commander Rabb to see you, just as you predicted, sir."

AJ laughed before he replied.  "Send him in, Ti – "  Harm strode through the door before he could even finish.  "Commander," he acknowledged, breathing deeply to keep his amusement under control.  As Colonel Mackenzie would no doubt be amazed to know, it had taken her partner exactly seven minutes and six seconds to appear at his door from the time Commander Turner called to give the five-minute warning.  That meant Turner and Mackenzie had started talking two minutes and six seconds ago – and that Rabb had probably set out for the command suite 11 seconds ago; even his long legs couldn't make it from the bullpen in less than 10.

Harm launched right in.  "Sir, I don't understand.  Mac is my partner."

"Have a seat, Commander."  When the man had lowered himself into the nearest chair, the admiral continued.  "I'm not even going to tell you what emotion I heard behind that statement because you'd deny it three ways from Sunday anyway.  And until you can magically transform yourself into something other than the All-American flyboy from California, there's nothing you can do to assist the case I've assigned to Commander Turner and Colonel Mackenzie."

"But, admiral, husband and wife?"

"Commander Rabb, is there something going on between you and the Colonel that you and she have neglected to tell me about?"

"No, sir.  It's just – "  The man really did look lost and forlorn, as though his best friend – or wife? – had just left him.

But business was business and until Commander Rabb had a reason to think the order unlawful, the assignment would stand.  "Then there's really nothing you can complain about.  I'm not asking your significant other to be unfaithful or even to pretend to be unfaithful because you aren't significant others.  I'm asking two dedicated military officers to undertake an assignment of the utmost importance.  That you are not qualified for this assignment is just an unfortunate circumstance over which none of us had control, and before you object further, let me assure you that Congresswoman Latham has been notified and agreed to the cover story in the interest of truth.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to see that Colonel Mackenzie and Commander Turner are properly covered for their case."

"But sir," Harm persisted even as he stood.

"What is it, Commander?"  AJ took his glasses off and twirled them absently in one hand in a sure sign that he was near his limit.

"Who's going to watch her six?"

And that plaintive plea, in a nutshell, was the psyche of Harmon Rabb, Jr.  If something – anything – happened to Sarah Mackenzie, he would hold himself responsible, either because he was there and didn't stop it or because he wasn't there to stop it.  "I am sure," the admiral began slowly, "that you will impress upon Commander Turner just how important it is for him to 'watch her six', and lest you forget, the Commander does hold a brown belt in Jujitsu."  

Harm had no formal schooling beyond basic hand-to-hand; his style of fighting was hit 'em till they're down and once more for good measure.  The verbal reminder of his lack obviously threw him because it took a good ten seconds for him to reply.  "Yes, sir, and Mac has her third degree black belt, but that only helps when your attackers make themselves known.  What if they find out something and the bad guys come in the middle of the night and Sturgis can't protect – "

"Harm."  AJ waited for the man to look at him again.  "You are borrowing trouble.  And wearing your heart on your sleeve."  He mused aloud after a moment's thought.  "You're due for a joint-duty tour…"

"Sir, I don't want to leave JAG."  His reply missed being a shout – and insubordination – by about 3 decibels.

AJ Chegwidden made a conscious decision to interfere in the personal lives of two of his officers for the good of his unit, his sanity, and his officers themselves.  "Commander, you are aware that Lt. Sims is seconded to this office, correct?"

"Yes, sir, because otherwise she and Lt. Roberts…"  Several high wattage light bulbs clicked on inside the mind of Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr.  "I think I see your point, sir."  He came to attention with a smile that he couldn't hide.  "Permission to return to my office, Admiral, sir?"

"Dismissed, Commander."  Only after the door closed behind the junior officer did AJ sit back in his chair, stretch his arms behind his head, and prop his feet up on the desk.  Sometimes, no matter how awful the cases that came through the door, the day was worthwhile anyway.

=====

1850 Zulu/1350 Local  
JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, Virginia

Sturgis Turner was looking forward to his assignment with the Colonel.  After she inadvertently revealed her feelings about Harm to him almost a year ago, they had built a friendship based on mutual admiration and respect – and common concern for the aforementioned Harmon Rabb, Jr.  Sturgis approached Mac's office with his arms loaded, surprised to see the door open.  He cleared his throat so as not to startle her and asked, "How are you coming with a name, Colonel?"

Mac looked up at him with a smile and pushed some hair off her forehead.  "Well, I'm torn between 'Kalila', which means 'sweetheart' or 'beloved'; Zafira, which means 'victorious' or 'successful'; and 'Zahira', which means 'shining' or 'luminous'."  She motioned for him to come in and cleared off a space for the books.  Then she pointed to her computer screen.  "I found this great website with Arabic names and their meanings."

"Why don't we give Harm those three definitions and let him pick the one he thinks describes you best?"  Sturgis pulled the guest chair into a position from which he could see the screen.

Mac snorted.  "He'd probably substitute 'stubborn' and "willful', for which I find no matches."  She scrolled slowly so her temporary partner could see the entire list.

"Or perhaps 'beautiful', which would leave us with 'Bahiya' or 'Zaynah'; he could also come up with 'intuitive', which gives us "Ilham' or…"

"He who?"  Harm's voice interrupted from the doorway, where the aviator/lawyer stood with his arms folded and his back against the open door.

"He you, in fact."  Sturgis grabbed a piece of Mac's notepaper and wrote out the three definitions.  Enjoying the horrified look on Mac's face as she refused to look toward her usual partner, he passed Harm the paper.  "Which of these phrases do you like best?"

Harm took the sheet as he asked, "In reference to?"

Sturgis looked his Academy roommate in the eyes.  "Mac."

Harm almost smiled, but Mac missed it as she pushed away from her desk.  "I'm leaving now so I don't witness something to which I'll have to testify later.  Sturgis, if you're still standing when you finish, I'll be in the conference room writing dispensation and status memos for my JAG trainees and my replacement."  She got to the door, moving to stand as close to nose-to-nose as she could with her much taller partner.  "Harm, hurting Sturgis won't get you assigned to this case in his place, so don't do anything stupid, okay?"

Sturgis could tell that the look on Harm's face was one reserved only for Sarah Mackenzie.  "Okay.  For you."

Mac's quirked up little smile was fairly common, but Turner would have bet good money that her eyes said everything the stubborn commander in front of her needed to know.  He waited until Mac stepped out into the bullpen, then prodded his long-time friend, "Well?

Harm looked down at the list, sucking in a deep breath as he saw the choices.  "If you're trying to bait me into revealing how I feel about Mac…"  He closed the door behind him, moving to sit heavily in Mac's desk chair.

"I already know how you feel about Mac, and I'm pretty sure everyone else who's ever met you does, as well.  I think you even know how you feel about her, you're just scared to death of that feeling."

"What makes you think that?"

"Because if you weren't terrified of screwing it up, you'd do something about it."  That one struck home, by the pained expression on the face across the desk.

Harm sighed and looked down at the list again.  "She'll know, won't she?"

"That you picked the name?  Yes."

Harm squirmed a bit.  "If I'm going to act on these feelings – and that's as much of an admission as you'll get from me that I even have feelings for the Colonel – it's going to be much more obvious than a cover name.  Show me where this came from and tell me what you've got so far."

Sturgis pointed to the computer beside his fellow officer.  "She's got the site up.  We will be Mr. and Mrs. Ibrahim Yassin.  My family is third generation Sudanese American on my father's side and descendents of slaves on my mother's; she is my bride of seven years from a small Farsi-speaking enclave in Bahrain and we met when her older brother brought me home from the mosque during Ramadan while I was on liberty from the U.S.S. Tarawa.  We're Sunni Muslims, of course, and although I am fairly liberal in my interpretation of a woman's role, she is more comfortable living with a headscarf as a modest married woman would in her village.  She drives and will work part time at the NCIS office at Pearl covered as a junior investigator to cover her part in the investigation.  We will attend services at the Islamic center on base."

"So you're saying that you'll be interacting occasionally with people who might know the meaning of her name but most people won't.  Okay."  Harm studied the list for several minutes in silence while Sturgis read from one of the books he'd brought in.  "I've got two.  Tell me what you think."

Sturgis looked up and waited for Harm to go on.

"Akilah Yassin or Azizah Yassin?"

"What, are you trying to make me pick in the end?  Not happening, my friend.  Your choice, through and through."

"What's the custom about middle names?"

"A lot of men have them.  I suppose we could give her one and say that her father was so besotted he couldn't pick just one name for her."  He stressed the word "father" in such a way that the quotations marks were audible, earning a glare from Harm.

"That sounds okay," he relented after a moment.  He looked away toward the wall and whispered to himself for several seconds, then grinned broadly at Sturgis.  "Azizah Akilah Yassin."

Commander Turner stood and leaned over Mac's desk to look at the website.  He found that he could completely understand and endorse Harm's choices for himself.  Azizah means esteemed, precious, and cherished, while Akilah means intelligent, logical, or one who reasons.  And those described Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie just as well as "Princess", the meaning of her given name, ever could.

=====

2120 Zulu/1620 Local  
JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, Virginia

"That was sweet," Mac said from his doorway.

Harm looked up to see her smiling at him in that way she had, the one that made his heart flip-flop in his chest.  "What was sweet?" he came back as innocently as he could.

She surprised him when she shut the door, closed the blinds, and came around his desk to perch in front of him on the uncluttered top.  "The name," she murmured.

He shrugged.  "Only the truth about my Ninja Girl."  It had been a long time since he called her that, even though he used it internally rather often.  He knew for a fact that no one else called her by that pet name; Brumby had nearly lost a vital piece of his anatomy for trying it once and if Mic hadn't earned the right, no one ever would except its creator.

Mac's eyebrow went up.  "'Your' Ninja Girl?"

"Just like I'm 'your' Flyboy.  I certainly don't let anyone else call me that."

"Really?"  She shifted on the desk and Harm got a glimpse of more leg than he had seen since that god-awful day on the beach in Australia when he thought she'd been topless with Mic.  As a result, he missed part of what she was saying.  "…normal nickname for you pilots."

He took a few seconds to fill in the blanks with what he hoped were the correct words.  "Aviator, Marine, I'm an aviator."  That was a longstanding point of familiar needling between the two of them, as well.  "And yeah, some people use 'Flyboy' pretty freely.  But not with me."

She sat with that, seemed to accept it.  Then in a low voice, looking down at her short, buffed oval nails, she asked what he knew she'd really come to learn.  "Harm, are you okay with this?"

He sighed heavily.  "Honestly?"

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't want the truth," she confirmed, meeting his blue-green eyes with her own chocolate brown pair.

Harm could look away and lie or hold her gaze and hand her his heart with the truth.  Remembering the Admiral's words earlier, he took a deep breath and opted for the latter.  He took both her hands in his and curled them gently together.  "No, Sarah, I'm not."

"I'm sorry," she whispered as she brought their joined hands into her lap.  "I wish – " 

"Hey, it's not your fault.  I know that I'm not the best person for the job and I know that Sturgis is.  I just don't happen to like the idea of you going off again after you just came back from the Seahawk.  I miss you when you're gone and e-mail just doesn't cut it now that we're back into our groove."

Mac smiled at that.  "Groove or rut, Harm?"

"Groove, just like on an old LP.  It takes the needle to the logical conclusion of the record, just at its own pace and if it goes too fast or too slow, it's messed up."

"Nice analogy, Squid.  We are to our relationship as the groove is to the needle.  And you said the Miller Analogies Test nearly killed your chance at Law School."

"Especially since I found out later I only needed the LSATs.  Nice try, Colonel, but you're not going to sidetrack me that easily."  He squeezed her hands and gave her his trademark smile.  "I really don't want to let go at the moment."

She laughed.  "Who said I wanted you to?"

Harm was sorely tempted to move his chair over 18 inches to put his arms around her waist and his head in her lap.  He would have if they were alone in the building, but he wouldn't jeopardize either of their careers with so blatant a display of affection when even a remote chance existed that someone would catch them.  "How much time can we cram in together between now and your fake PCS date?" he asked, trying to be content with the soft hands in his against the shapely legs he wished he could see in their entirety.

"Well…there's tonight, tomorrow night and this entire weekend, then the nights next week.  You are going to Harriet and Bud's for Thanksgiving, right?"

"Would I miss Thanksgiving this year with Bud?"  His soft tone held all the worry and anger and relief he had felt during Bud's ongoing recovery.

"No."  It would be just the core group – the Roberts, including Mikey and possibly Big Bud, the Admiral, and the two of them – this year, which under the circumstances was just as well.  "And then Sturgis and I leave early Friday morning for Honolulu."

"What about Christmas?"  Harm knew his voice sounded a little squeaky, but the thought of a Christmas without Mac made this even worse.

"Relax, Flyboy.  If we are still at work out there, we've already gotten approval for leave under the cover of attending a family wedding on the mainland.  And even if something happens that Sturgis can't come, I can because I'll be under civilian cover."

"Good – I mean, hopefully Sturgis will be home, too.  Either way, stay at my place after services on Christmas Eve, will you?  Please?"  His fingers began of their own accord to caress her hands.  

He could tell that his actions affected her; she flushed a bit and had to take a deep breath before she could speak.  "As long as you promise to put up a tree and have a stocking for me, you're on."

He was about to reply when a discreet knock sounded on his door; Mac rose smoothly as he dropped her hands, then he waited the two or three seconds it took her to move a step away before he acknowledged the interruption.  "Come!"

"Excuse me, sir, ma'am, the Admiral would like to see you both before you leave for the day," Petty Officer Tiner said.  "Not immediately, just before you head out or before 1745, whichever comes first."

"Thank you, Tiner," Harm replied with a nod.  "Dismissed."

"Aye, aye, sir."  Jason Tiner smiled at the two officers before he closed the door.

Harm and Mac looked at each other in silence for a long moment before they laughed, her chuckle sounding as self-conscious to him as his own.  "So, what say we have dinner tonight and you pass on all your hard-earned wisdom regarding adjudicating a trial to the neophyte, Jarhead?"

She gave him that smile again.  "That's Colonel Jarhead to you, Commander Squid.  My place, Chinese, 1900."  And with that she was gone, her business-like questions and answers to other staff members carrying through his now open door as she made her way across the bullpen toward Turner's small office.

=====

2210 Zulu/1710 Local/1210 Hawaii  
Chaplain Isaiah Turner's home, DC Metro Area

Captain Isaiah Turner, USN (ret.), heard his phone ringing from the front porch and made his way as quickly as he could to answer it before his machine picked up.  "Chaplain Turner."

"Isaiah!  I'm so glad I found you at home," a voice on the other end said.  "It's John O'Neill."

"Ah, the good Father O'Neill calling from sunny Hawaii," Turner greeted in return, affecting a bad Irish accent.  "Unless you're back home for a Georgetown reunion?"

"No, I'm definitely in Hawaii, although at the moment it's raining.  I wanted to check in with you about something that has to remain on the QT."

Something in the normally effusive priest's voice told the retired chaplain that O'Neill wasn't planning a surprise party for anyone.  "What's going on, John?"

Chaplain O'Neill told his mentor about the regimental commander and about the hate crimes.  "I had a conference call with CINPAC, the Commandant, and the JAG early this morning.  I guess JAG is going to investigate but I haven't been informed how yet."

"It sounds like you've done everything you can for the moment.  How's it sitting?"

"Not well," the man in Hawaii admitted.  "Not because I think we're overreacting, though.  I just have this fear that we're missing something and that whatever we're missing will come back to hurt – or worse, kill – someone."

Turner recognized the thought process from 5,500 miles away.  "John, you can't do any more than you've already done.  Your designator is CHAPLAIN.  Let the men and women who are investigators and lawyers do what they do best."

"Isaiah, I can't live with myself if something I could have prevented happens."

Turner sighed.  "You and 99% of the rest of the human race, Father.  Listen, my son is at JAG HQ now.  Let me talk to him and see if he knows anything about the plan.  In the mean time, just keep documenting the incidents you hear about and start getting written consent from as many of the subjects as you can so that any defense can't claim they're privileged communications under confessional rules."

"I've only reported what was outside the confessional!"

"I'm sure," the retired officer soothed.  "But unless it's written and signed, the defense may have standing."

"There is no defense," the priest growled.  "If what this man is doing is what we think it is, he's…he's…"

"He's a child of God, John, and nothing you or I can do will change that.  And as one who happens to have been fortunate enough to be an American citizen, he's innocent until proven guilty and entitled to his day in court."

Another growl traveled across the Pacific Ocean and the North American continent, but the voice that followed was gentler.  "Yes, sir, you're right.  It's just hard to accept this kind of inhuman bigotry as worthy of the same protections."


	3. III

_Disclaimers in part I._

0015 Zulu/1915 Local  
Mac's Apartment, Georgetown

"Okay, okay, I know I'm a little late," Harm began as soon as Mac opened the door.  "But the food is hot."

"How did you manage that?" she asked, knowing that he usually arrived late with take-out that needed a spin in her microwave to be edible.

He grinned sheepishly.  "I forgot to call ahead, so I had to order when I arrived."

Sarah Mackenzie laughed.  "Which meant that the food was still hot when you left the restaurant instead of heat lamp lukewarm like it usually is."  She enjoyed the flush that came to her sailor's cheeks at the truthful accusation.  "Well, get in here and let's eat while it's still fresh.  Starving Marine here."

"What's new?"  Harm stepped inside her apartment and leaned down to place a quick kiss on her cheek before he took off his leather bomber jacket and headed into the kitchen.  He noticed that she hadn't followed.  "Mac, you okay?" he asked without turning from the task of opening the containers of food.

In fact, she was rubbing her cheek thoughtfully and looking at his back.  "Who are you," she started in a stage voice loaded with fear, "and what have you done with my Harmon Rabb, Jr.?"

That made him swivel around to face her with a smirk firmly in place.  "Surprised you, didn't I?"  He had been working on that since she left his office earlier.

"Uh, yeah," she affirmed, moving into the kitchen.  "Pleasantly so.  I may have to retaliate."

"That sounds like fun."

"It will be."  She took two open cartons from him and went into her dining area, where she had set the table with linen napkins and two of the four place settings of Wedgwood she possessed.  The goblets were Waterford Crystal and the silver had been her grandmother's, brought over from Persia.  All of it had been a gift from her Uncle Matt when she graduated from law school.  She lit the tall tapers and dialed down the rheostat before she went back to the kitchen.

She nudged him as she slipped by.  "Water or juice, Harm?"

"Both, I think, if that's okay.  What are the juice options?"

Mac opened her refrigerator.  "Orange-Pine-Banana or Strawberry Lemon-Lime."

"Lemon-Lime, please."  He took the last of the food out.

She busied herself filling a nice pitcher with ice water, then pulled out the two remaining goblets in her set and poured two glasses of juice.  It wasn't wine for obvious reasons, but the liquid had the color of a fruity blush vintage.  That thought made her smile.

Harm's next words made her smile more.  "Wow, Mac.  This is nice," his voice came from the table.  His statement grew in volume as he came back into the kitchen.  "You have really beautiful formal dishes and silver.  I don't think I've ever seen them before."

"You haven't," she replied, motioning for him to take the pitcher while she picked up the goblets.  "I don't get them out except for special occasions.  I haven't used them for a while," she explained, leading him back to the table.

Harm ignored the impulse to ask if the last special occasion had been with Mic Brumby.  Tonight was not a time to open up old wounds.  He set down the pitcher, then took the goblets from her and set them in place.  And much to her obvious surprise, he pulled her chair out and handed her into it, placing a kiss on her knuckles before he went around to his own chair.  "So, this is a special occasion?"  He tucked the napkin onto his lap.

This time, she flushed.  "Well, I figured that we'd celebrate your first case as a judge.  And maybe that we're getting better about telling each other the truth about our feelings."

He raised his juice glass to toast; they served themselves and ate in easy silence for a few minutes before he had the courage to ask her the same question she had asked him earlier in the day.  "Are you okay with this assignment – you and Sturgis, I mean?"

Mac looked across the table at her partner.  "Yes and no," answered she after a long moment.  "No because you know I'd always rather have your six to watch.  I know you so well that I can pretty much assume in any situation how and where you'll get yourself in trouble.  I don't know Sturgis that well – nor, frankly, do I want to because one stressful sailor is enough for this Marine.  Yes because I know that Sturgis is the best person for this assignment and because he knows that you will personally cause him bodily harm if something happens to me.  But mostly yes because we're not in a place in our relationship where we could play husband and wife without causing major problems for us."

Harm hadn't thought about that; he knew as soon as she said it that she was right, as usual.  "I don't want any more major problems.  I want us to work on us without more complications."

"One day at a time, Harm.  We'll get where we're supposed to go one day at a time."

At the end of the very pleasant evening, the two officers stood just inside Mac's apartment door.  Harm had his jacket on but neither seemed anxious to end the conversation or the night.

"It's 2256, Harm," Mac noted, disappointment and reality mixing in her tone.  "And God knows I could sit here with you all night, but we have staff call at 0730.  Don't you think you and I both need to sleep between now and then?"  She yawned; as she stretched, her pullover sweater rode up just a little to reveal a narrow expanse of her firm abdomen.

"That was cruel, Mac," Harm whined in his best little boy voice, mimicking AJ Roberts.

"Really?"  She closed the distance between them and put her arms around him.  "I'm sorry, Harm."

He didn't answer for a moment; instead, he put his arms around her and pulled her tightly to his body, relishing the contact.  "A guy could get used to this," he murmured into her hair.

Mac's words tickled at his chest where her head lay on his clavicle.  "So could a gal."

They stood like that for nearly five minutes.  Without conscious effort, they matched their breathing, listening to the intimate mechanics of two hearts learning to beat as one.  But it had to end, because they did have to work in the morning and because it wasn't time yet for anything more.

"Harm, honey, you really have to leave now because if you don't, I won't let you."

"I could live with that," he replied before he realized what Mac had said.  "Did you just call me 'honey'?"

She turned her head up to look into his eyes.  "Did I say that aloud?  My goodness."  She wondered if he knew how tempted she was to capture his lips with her and beg him to stay.

"Retaliation?"  He wondered if she knew how much he wanted to kiss her, to stay the night.

"Maybe."  She forced herself to push away from him before all her will power dissolved.  "Sweet dreams, Harmon Rabb, Jr."  She opened the door and noticed his look of disappointment.

He cleared his voice.  "They will be, Sarah Mackenzie."  He took the two steps necessary to make it outside her door, then turned.

Mac smiled.  She couldn't let it end on that note, so she moved to him in a swift step and balanced on tiptoe to brush his lips with hers.  It was a statement of intent.  "Goodnight, Flyboy," she whispered.

"Goodnight, Ninja Girl.  Until tomorrow."  And he was gone.

Sarah Mackenzie watched him until he disappeared through the stairway door, fingering her lips where they tingled from the brief, charged touch.

From his SUV a moment later, Harmon Rabb, Jr., watched the lights go off in her living room and on in her bedroom, wishing he could be there with her to show her just exactly what it meant that she had called him "honey".

=====

1905 Zulu/1205 Local  
First Baptist Church, Alexandria Virginia – 24 November 2002

"Reverend Turner, that was just magnificent," said a stately older woman as she held out her hand to the retired chaplain.  "We are so grateful you could be here these last few weeks while Pastor Thomas was ill."

"It was my pleasure, Mrs. Lambeth," Isaiah Turner replied, pressing her hand between his own.  "It was nice to have the same congregation to preach to for several Sundays, especially as we've lived with the last pastoral parts of Matthew."  He let go of her ring-laden hand.

Mrs. Lambeth nodded.  "You have certainly challenged us with Matthew's texts.  I never knew Jesus could be so…stern."

"Ma'am, I think Jesus had the same problem most preachers do today."

"What's that?"  She adjusted her fur coat and began to toy with one of her diamond stud earrings.

Isaiah smiled to take some of the sting out of his words.  "Hard-headed congregations," he answered.

The woman laughed and turned around to go back into the sanctuary.  "I just realized that I need to sign up to help serve Thanksgiving dinner," she said over her shoulder.

"Haven't lost the touch, have you, Dad?"

"Sturgis!  I thought I was hallucinating when I saw you sitting in the congregation."  The older Turner threw his arm around his son.  "What brings you out to church?"

Sturgis let the implied criticism slide; the days when being the Chaplain's son set high expectations were long gone and he knew that his father would never understand his disillusionment with organized Christianity.  "I was hoping I could take you to lunch so we could talk about what you asked me the other day."

The minister nodded and said with a smile, "Absolutely, son.  Give me about 20 minutes."

Sturgis watched his father say good-bye to the rest of his temporary flock, marveling as always that the man who raised him could be so consistently loving to every single person who came through the line.  Only with the wisdom of age could Sturgis see that his father had been like that with all the Turner children, as well – as each individual child needed to have that love expressed.  He knew now that he had been extraordinarily lucky growing up, even if while he was in the midst of it his family life felt like prison.

Harm Rabb and Jack Keeter had laughed when, during fourth-class summer at Annapolis, Sturgis had uttered the almighty words of Martin Luther King, Jr.:  "Free at last, free at last.  Thank God almighty, I'm free at last!"  But it had felt that way to the 18-year old, baffling the Californian whose father was MIA and the Nebraskan who was raised by his grandparents after his parents died in a car accident.  By the time he graduated, he had begun to understand just how well his parents had done with him and his brothers and sisters; as he reached his late 30's, he hoped only to have the chance to do as well by his own children some day.

"You look like you're a million miles away, Sturgis."  The Reverend Captain Isaiah Turner smiled at his oldest son with great affection.

"Just thinking about how lucky I am to be your son."

The smile on the minister's face grew wider.  "And I am a lucky man to have you for a son.  Not to lose that sentiment in reality, but I'm ready if you are."

Sturgis followed his father home, then the two went together to the Officer's Club at the Washington Navy Yard where they were able to catch the tail end of the Sunday brunch menu.

"I'm sorry I couldn't talk earlier, Dad," the active officer began as his father cut into the Caesar salad he loved so much.  "I had to clear it with the Admiral first."

"Undercover work?" the chaplain guessed around his first mouthful.

Sturgis nodded for emphasis, saying, "Yes, sir.  And you're looking at one half of the team."

"You and Commander Rabb?"

Commander Turner flushed, noticeable only to his father.  "Um, no, sir, Colonel Mackenzie and myself.  As a married couple who practice Islam."

The minister looked at his son thoughtfully as he ate several forkfuls of his salad in silence.  "Are you okay with it?" he asked finally, not knowing that Harm and Mac had asked each other that question days before.

"Which part?"

"All of it."

Deciding that his father knew him entirely too well, Sturgis blew out the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding before he began.  "Well, as far as the Islam part, I can live with it to a point.  I'm really glad you made us take Hebrew lessons from Rabbi Frankel, though, because otherwise I'd be lost in the Arabic.  It will be very hard to defend Islam against Christianity with conviction, though.  That part may give me away if I have to go toe-to-toe with anyone theologically."

"Do you know the arguments?"

"Inside and out," he affirmed.  "Mac spent yesterday drilling it into me."

Isaiah chuckled, envisioning the passionate Marine making her point.  "Okay, so pretend it's a mock trial.  You once had to argue the losing side in Brown vs. the School of Education, right?"

"Yeah."  That had been a painful high school experience, even though his closing arguments had won his forensics team first place at states in the Texas mock trial competition.  "That will help, thanks.  But I'm not sure there's much you can do about the other part."

"Harm's obsession with Mac's safety?"  The elder Turner had paid a great deal of amused attention to his son's recitations of his co-workers' antics over the year or so of his current assignment.

"In one, Dad.  Thank God I'm dating Bobbi or I'm quite sure he'd be dreaming the absolute worst instead of only the seventh or eighth circle of Hell."

"Have they said anything to – okay, never mind.  I'm sure I'd have been among the first to know because they're going to be at the altar before they ever actually say the words at the rate they're going."

Sturgis groaned.  "I hope not.  I can't take that."

Chuckling again, the retired man moved his salad plate away as his made-to-order omelet appeared over his shoulder, placed by an unobtrusive server.  "So what's the game plan?"

The JAG lawyer spent the next twenty minutes outlining the investigation and the undercover assignment for his father, who added several helpful ideas and listed four possible pitfalls as the details became clear.  When he'd finished his unofficial briefing, Sturgis sat back in his chair – surprised to see that along the way he had managed to eat his Eggs Benedict – and looked at his father with a half smile.  "I just hope we can flush this guy out – assuming he's guilty of something more than blatant stupidity – quickly.  I'm not sure if I can pretend to be a Marine for that long without having permanent damage to my psyche."

"And I seriously doubt that Lt. Col. Mackenzie can last too long playing the chafed, subservient Muslim wife, even though I think that's one of the best way to push his buttons.  Better would probably mean a burqha, which unless I miss my guess the colonel wouldn't wear if her life depended on it."

"She has," Sturgis corrected his father, thinking back to the assignment Harm and Mac had in Saudi Arabia before the whole Afghanistan thing interrupted life at JAG so terribly.  "And she wouldn't again without a massive fight.  I didn't even suggest it."

When the other man didn't reply right away, Sturgis looked closely at his father, a bit of alarm evident in his face.  "Dad?"

"Sorry, Sturgis.  I just had another thought."

"What?"

"Maybe there's a way Commander Rabb could be of use in this investigation after all – assuming that he's available."

"Not until he finishes his first assignment on the bench, but I'm listening."

Chaplain Turner explained his idea, which his son had to admit was excellent.  "I know it won't be easy for Harm," Isaiah finished, "but if you're stuck, it might be the key."

=====

1430 Zulu/0930 Local  
JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, Virginia – 25 November 2002

"That's not fair, Mac," Harm whined to her as the partners made their way from the conference room to their respective offices.  "You get tomorrow off _gratis_ and I'm stuck here with this God-awful case to adjudicate."

"Sorry, your honor," she teased, turning her head away from any audience in the bullpen to stick her tongue out at him.

He waited until they were standing in her office doorway before he leaned down to whisper in her ear, "Stick it out again, Colonel, and we'll share it."

For his comment, he got a blushing Marine and a solid whack in the chest with a very heavy case file.  But she didn't say, "Red light, Commander," and after the 16 hours time they'd spent together this weekend, he was feeling very hopeful about their relationship.  If only she weren't going away…Or if only he were going instead of Sturgis.  But no, the Admiral had seen fit to let him sit the bench for a case so his duty was here at home.  "At least it's not baseball," he muttered to himself as he walked the thirty feet to his own office.

"Sir?"  Lt. Singer stood waiting for him.

"What is it, Lieutenant?" Harm asked with barely concealed annoyance.

"What's not baseball?"

Surprised that her tone was less harsh than normal, he allowed himself a small sigh before he answered her in a much more civil tone.  "The practice of law, Ms. Singer.  What can I do for you?"  He could only hope it was related to the case and not to Sergei or the baby.

"Sir, I'd like to ask for an Article 32 hearing.  I just received the prosecution's witness list and initial depositions and I don't believe that Lt. Roberts has enough to prove a need for a Court Martial, sir."

"Have you spoken with your clients about this?"  On Saturday, her clients had been pushing to go directly to Court Martial – unusual but not unheard of, particularly when no civil authority has jurisdiction, because double jeopardy is as ingrained in the UCMJ as in the Bill of Rights.  

"Yes, sir.  I've shown them the wisdom of not going to trial at all if we can avoid it."

Harm looked at the young woman for a long moment, not quite sure what her motives were.  She was always gung-ho to prove herself in court against senior lawyers; she never settled a suit she was defending and she only offered plea bargains that were significantly advantageous to the prosecution.

"I will review the package and let you know by lunchtime, Lt. Singer."

"Thank you, Commander."

"You're welcome.  Dismissed."  

Harm settled at his desk with a heavy sigh and began to read through the motion.  _Prima facie, _Bud had a strong case – any civilian grand jury in the country would hand down an indictment with the evidence available.  Twenty minutes later, Harm realized something was very wrong about Singer's position.  Article 32 hearings were just a bit more like real trials than grand juries; Harm admitted to himself that after oral arguments, he might have to drop the charges and specifications against the two aviators and let them go based on lack of convincing evidence in an Article 32 proceeding. 

The Uniform Code of Military Justice follows the Constitution in its breakdown of trial proceedings.  Like a civilian criminal grand jury, Article 32 hearings have no double jeopardy attached; later additional evidence could result in the charges and specifications being reissued.  But, as in civilian criminal court, if during the court martial proper a motion were made for dismissal or summary judgment on grounds that the prosecution had failed to prove its case, then the judge could rule in favor of the motion and the accused would be free from the threat of double jeopardy.  To Harm, reading through Singer's motion and supporting exhibits, it seemed that the better legal option was to go to trial and aim for a finding of insufficient evidence – especially if the DNA evidence that wasn't yet available was inconclusive when it did arrive.

His only hope was that the Admiral would see the same thing and so advise his co-counsel, but Harm's hands were tied.  Unless Singer came back to him and revoked her request, he had to allow the Article 32 hearing.  Unfortunately, it would prolong the case if he did find that the case warranted trial, meaning the best he could hope for was 10 days on the bench from Article 32 on Monday to verdict on Friday a full week later.  Nearly two weeks during which Mac would be in someone else's care.

"Suck it up, Sailor," he commanded himself out loud.  "She's been away before and been just fine."

=====

1740 Zulu/1240 Local  
Prime Subs, Falls Church, Virginia

"You're not eating?"  Harm looked at his partner, disbelief in his eyes.  "You feeling okay?"

Mac and Sturgis exchanged an exasperated look across the table before the Naval officer replied for the two of them.  "Practice, Harm.  We'll have five days of Ramadan left when we get to Pearl and we need to at least have some conditioning for the fast or we'll blow our covers in 24 hours."

The aviator shook his head and reached for his veggie supreme sub as the cook lifted it over the high counter above the table the three occupied.  "I think you're torturing yourselves coming to watch me eat like this."

Mac smiled and swatted his arm.  "If I recall, you really didn't give me much choice and Sturgis and I already had plans for the hour to stay together to avoid temptation."

"Yeah, 'Get thee behind us, Satan,'" Sturgis added, looking anywhere but at his friend's sandwich.  It was an indication of how hungry he was that even a plain lettuce, tomato, green pepper, and onion sub with salt, pepper, and mustard sounded good to the man who usually ate a 6-ounce portion of meat for lunch.  That he almost never ate anything except salad at dinner when alone was a secret he kept from Harm lest the other man decide that other facets of his personality deserved more attention than his Mac-like eating habits.

"Nah, I kind of like this," Harm teased.  "The carnivores watching longingly as the herbivore devours a perfectly healthy meal."  He took a big bite and hammed up the enjoyment, closing his eyes as if in ecstasy and making suggestive sounds as he rolled his head around.

"You're not an herbivore, Harm."  Mac waited for him to open his eyes so she could spear him with a deathly glare only partially in jest.  "You're an omnibore."

Sturgis spluttered for a second before laughter erupted from him; Harm joined in a moment later when he got her pun.

"Yeah, well if I'm boring, how come you like hanging out with me so much?"

"Because watching paint dry is too taxing."

_She always has a come back_, Harm thought, watching his friend from Academy days try without much success to control his laughter.  _I wonder what she would say to "Will you marry me?"_

=====

1950 Zulu/0950 Local  
Marine Corps Base Hawaii – 26 November 2002

"Col. Richards, I have to say that I'm disappointed that your request for transfer was approved over my objections," Col. Eugene Waters said, nodding to the chair across from his desk.  "Although I do believe you will do exceedingly well at your new post in the Pentagon."

"Thank you, sir," the departing officer replied.  "I was not aware that you had objected."

"Not formally.  I simply said that I think you're the best XO I could get in the Marine Corps and I'd be very unhappy to lose you.  One never really knows who or what might come in to replace you."

Colonel Richards shifted in his seat; one of the reasons he wanted out was what his commanding officer had left unsaid in his comment.  "I'm sure that my replacement will be equally excellent."

"You sell yourself short, John.  And the new man for S-2 looks to be another" he used a derogatory term.  "That will make 7 commissioned officers, then there's Goldstein and his 6 buddies to worry about, too.  Anyway, when do you report?"

He'd gone and said it, which was a bit surprising.  Richards filed the comment along with all the others he'd heard in his 13 months serving under the colonel.  "Monday.  We already had the tickets for today for Chicago to see Louise's parents over the weekend, so we've just changed the round trip to a leg to DC on Friday.  Our stuff and our cars will be there in about three weeks but because they want me fast, they're paying for a reasonable hotel within walking distance of a Metro stop."

"The kids?"

"Felicia is already on the mainland in boarding school; Louise's sister is married to a frocked Air Force colonel who just got assigned to Hickam Field, so Jack and Louis will stay here with them until Christmas break."

"That worked out well."  Col. Waters sat back, wondering for just a moment if there was something more to this sudden transfer.

"We got lucky.  Up until yesterday, the boys were going on to DC with us.  Now they'll be coming back to Hawaii with their favorite aunt and uncle."  That, Col. Richards thought, was a lie worth telling; Shelley and Jim had known for three months that they were moving to Hickam over Thanksgiving and that providential fact had precipitated his own request for transfer.  "I have to say I'm thrilled to be going into Joint Operations."

Waters smiled, at ease again with the situation.  "You'll be good at it," he allowed.  "You have a better understanding than most of the real roles of each service."  He stood.

"I ought to," the outgoing XO said with a broad smile as he, too, stood.  "There's enough adulteration of this Marine's family with other services that no matter where we spend the holidays, we're talking military history and strategy."

"As long as it's always the Marine who take Iwo Jima.  _Semper Fi_, Col. Richards."

"_Semper Fi_, Col. Waters."  The two shook hands and the interview was over.

Colonel John Richards stopped in the head to wash his hands and made a decision about the first military office he would visit upon landing in Washington.


	4. IV

_Disclaimers in part I._

1210 Zulu/0710 Local  
Mac's Apartment, Georgetown – 27 November 2002

"You're only ten minutes late, Sailor.  Good job," Mac greeted her partner when she opened the door.

"Please tell me the appointment for the 'vette isn't really at 0720," Harm begged, stepping in with vague disappointment that she was all ready to leave for the day.

Mac looked at him with a teasing, lighthearted smile.  "Of course not.  It's 0745.  But if I had said that…"

"I'd be pulling up at 0730 and facing your wrath for the rest of the day.  How come you know me so well?"  He pushed the door closed and opened his arms.

She accepted his invitation.  "Because that's what best friends do – they know each other well enough to avoid pushing buttons most of the time.  On a completely different note, can I tell you how glad I am that we're in winter dress now?"

He blinked in surprise.  "I thought it was dress whites and gold wings that set a girl's heart to pounding."

"Not mine," she denied, wondering if he knew how big a lie it was.  "No, it's just that I can hug you without worrying whether my makeup will show if it rubs off."

That was something he'd never given much thought to, actually.  But then, he'd never really let too many women hug him in uniform unless there were compelling reasons, like grief or fear.  With Mac, at least this week, it was becoming a habit for an entirely different, pleasant reason.  "Okay.  How come you didn't do this yesterday?"

"I had things to do yesterday that required the car.  Let me get my coat and briefcase and we'll be set to go."

A few minutes later, they were in their separate cars, Mac leading him to the specialty shop where first he, then she, now both got their Corvettes serviced.

In her little red sports car, Mac laughed at Harm's question.  If he knew where she had gone yesterday and why, he'd flip.  But this, she could feel, was their time to make the romantic part of their relationship work, however slowly it might happen, and she wanted to be ready physically when the time came.  For the first time in her life, she had medication for birth control.  There would be no condoms with Harm because he would, she prayed, be the last man she ever shared her bed with.  Except maybe their sons, when they were nursing infants.  That thought made her laugh more.

In his big silver Lexus behind her, Harm saw her laugh and wondered what radio station she was listening to.  Even from behind, she was beautiful when she laughed.  She was beautiful no matter what…well, except when she was drunk, and one experience of that was more than enough for Harm.  He marveled yet again at her resilience; lesser women and men would have gone back to the bottle numerous times since her one slip if they had lived her life and he knew that several of those times would have been at least in part his fault.  

Those thoughts turned to the many times she had gone out on a limb for him:  Russia the most obvious, but numerous times in the courtroom and on assignments when she stood by him to help him find the truth.  And she had been the first to be honest about her feelings for him that night in Australia that made up one of his recurring nightmares.  Another recurring nightmare involved him making it back from the Seahawk in time to watch her marry Mic anyway, even after he bared his soul on the Admiral's porch at her engagement party.  That, he had vowed, would never happen again.  Harm had asked her to spend Christmas Eve with him on the spur of the moment, but a plan began to form in his mind as he waited for a break in traffic so he could turn into the shop.

The shop owner treated all his female customers like they had brains in their heads, so in no time Mac was knocking on the passenger side window of the SUV to be let in.  Harm popped the lock and she climbed in, grousing about the height of his truck and the length of her skirt.

"I would like to register my approval of the length of your skirt," Harm replied with a carefully held straight face.  It was dead-on regulation minimum, right to the top of her kneecap when standing at attention.  Of course, regulation maximum gave her only another inch and a half, which wouldn't help with getting in and out of the SUV – and was also perfectly fine with Harm.

"And the tightness, I'm sure," she griped.  That, too, was regulation and in Mac's mind the bigger problem with getting in and out of cars and SUVs.

"You wear it well."  This time he turned his head just enough to let her see the sincerity of his smile.

She smiled in return and reached for her seat belt.  "Thank you, Commander."  They rode in silence for a few minutes before she spoke again.  "Harm, could I ask you a huge favor?"

"Sure, Mac.  What is it?"

"If I set my VCR, would you make sure that it records the Muppet movie that's on Friday night and then not watch it until I can watch it with you?"  She dropped her voice in embarrassment. 

Harm laughed hard enough to breeze through a yellow light for which he could have stopped.  One of the few things that had kept them from losing complete touch with each other in the past three years was their mutual affinity for all things Muppet, discovered by accident the first time they took care of their godson, little AJ Roberts.  Mac had grown up on Sesame Street; Harm, just a few years but a full TV generation older, had gotten hooked on The Muppet Show while babysitting in his neighborhood as a teenager.  "For you, anything, honey."

"Anything?  Honey?"  From her tone, she expected him to wiggle out of one or both of those statements.

"Yes.  Anything, honey."

With a look, they decided that "honey" was an acceptable addition to their vocabulary.  "In private, of course," they added together, making them both laugh as they were saluted through the guard gate at JAG Headquarters.

=====

1730 Zulu/1230 Local  
The Roberts' Home, Rosslyn, Virginia – 28 November 2002

"Harriet, thank you so much for allowing us to come at the last minute," Sturgis Turner said to the pert blonde who opened the door to welcome him inside.  "I can't believe we couldn't get to Manchester last night."

Chaplain Turner clapped his hand on his son's shoulder.  "Sturgis, I keep telling you that we can't change the weather, so it's pointless to stress about it.  Your sister certainly isn't and she's got ice and snow to deal with."

Harriet Sims Roberts smiled at both men.  "Well, sirs, we're delighted to have you here – to be honest, we were disappointed that you had other plans when we first invited you."

"Harriet, you are a very kind friend."  Sturgis leaned down to kiss her cheek as he stepped inside.

The older man gave her a hug as well as a kiss before she closed the door and took their coats from them.

"Comman – Harm is in there with Bud and Little AJ and Mikey," she said, indicating the den to the left of the front door.  "Mac is in the kitchen but says she wants to be there for the kickoff of the Detroit-New England game.  Something about Tom Brady being hunky, I think she said."

"Harm will love that," the younger Turner commented with a knowing look at the young lieutenant.

"I think that's why she said it, sir."

"Sturgis."

Harriet tried again, to the amusement of Isaiah.  "I think that's why she said it, Sturgis."

"Much better."  He turned to go into the den.

"Did I hear you say that Mac is in the kitchen?" the chaplain asked, following his hostess.

Mac must have heard her name because she stepped out into the dining room to greet the man.  "Chaplain Turner!  I'm so glad you're here."

"Well, as your father-in-law for the foreseeable future, I suppose it's only proper…"  He hugged and kissed her too, eliciting a squeal of laughter in the process.

Harriet shook her head.  "I hadn't thought about that aspect of this assignment, sir."

"Isaiah, Harriet, please.  You, too, Mac – unless you'd like to further irritate that pilot of yours and call me 'Dad.'"

Mac pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and shook her head.  "Thank you, Isaiah, but I think I've annoyed my aviator enough today just by talking about the offensive line of the New England Patriots."  Only then did it occur to her that she had just admitted to a more than friendly – albeit still forming – relationship with Harm, and she blushed furiously.

The hostess and the chaplain laughed; Mac was saved from an answer when the doorbell rang, but Isaiah had to help her save face.  "You're good together, Colonel.  Don't let anyone or anything tell you otherwise," he counseled softly.  "Especially not the Department of the Navy."

Harriet led Admiral Chegwidden into the kitchen so he could leave the appetizers to cook in the oven.  "Well, Chaplain Turner, it's a pleasure," the ranking officer said, extending his right hand to shake with the older man while balancing the hors d'oeuvres somewhat precariously in his left.

"Isaiah, please," Turner corrected for the second time that day.  "I think our hostess is going for the family touch."

"Yes, I am, and I've already slipped up twice by using ranks and 'sirs', so keep after me.  AJ, let me have that tray before you drop it."  Harriet took the appetizers from the admiral as he moved around the chaplain to his chief of staff.

"Happy Thanksgiving, AJ," Mac said, grinning at her commanding officer.

AJ debated how to greet her for about five seconds, then gave up and hugged her, hoping that Harm wouldn't choose that moment to enter the kitchen.  "Happy Thanksgiving, Mac.  It's ten minutes till kickoff."

"Internal clock says 12 minutes and 10 seconds."  The grin stayed firmly in place on her radiant face as she stepped out of his arms with a squeeze of his hands.

A new voice popped up from the other side of the breakfast bar.  "My internal clock says it's lunch time."

"Harm, we had this discussion when you picked me up."

"Come on, Mac, I didn't know you were serious."

AJ chortled.  "Harm, when has Mac not been serious about food?"

Chastised, the aviator swiped a handful of mixed nuts from the dish beside the beverage set-up and slinked away, only to be called back to greet the newcomers properly.  "If you hurry, AJ, you'll hear the experts' picks for today's games," he said by way of officially welcoming his commanding officer after he'd shaken hands with Sturgis' father.

"Please.  New England and Dallas.  No brainers," Mac scoffed.

"But Detroit always does well on Thanksgiving and the Redskins are a better team, Mac.  You're going down on this one."  He managed to leave this time, taking another handful of nuts with him and trailing the admiral and the chaplain in his wake.

"May I ask what's on the line?"  Mikey asked, meeting the three men in the dining room on his way to the kitchen.  He wondered to himself if the commander was as dense about football as he obviously was about the colonel.

"Dinner at 1789 when she gets back from her assignment."

_And that_, Mikey thought, _proves that a degree and a commission from Annapolis don't guarantee intelligence in all realms._

Bud looked away from the large screen TV when his son got a running start into the front hall toward his godfather's legs.  "What if you split the games, Harm?"

"Point spread.  Ten or more total, I buy, less than 10 she buys."  He kept moving, dragging the bundle of energy around his legs back into the den.  "AJ, be careful down there."

The little blonde beamed up at his father's mentor.  "I will, Uncle Harm."

"Harm, as your surrogate father, I advise you to save up for that dinner.  It's Dallas at home against the Redskins, man.  Guaranteed touchdown difference there, minimum."  Isaiah Turner sounded like the prophet for whom he was named.

Sturgis grunted.  "I'd rather be watching basketball, but since the NBA sees fit to have only two games and those are both after football…"

"Sturgis, just watch the football game," his father commanded, moving over on the sofa so Mikey Roberts could have his seat back.

Mikey shook his head as he sat down; watching the Turners reminded him that not all fathers and sons had such difficult relationships as he and Bud did with Big Bud.

Several quiet moments passed as the pre-game show wound down.  Just as the CBS color commentators came on screen, the man who delivered babies in the JAG offices and got them named after him looked down at Harm's legs.  "Where's Little AJ?"

"I don't know – "

A pronouncement answered the question.  "Make room for Auntie Mac!" Little AJ yelled as he led his godmother into the room.  He stopped and looked at the men gathered.  "Uh, oh, Auntie Mac.  There's no chairs.  You have to sit in Uncle Harm's lap."

Harm and Mac both flushed furiously as the others roared with laughter; Little AJ joined in although he had no idea what he had said that was so funny.

"What's going on in here?" Harriet wondered out loud as she came in with a tray of glasses and an ice bucket.

"Your son," the admiral started, pausing to laugh, "just busted his godparents publicly."

Little AJ, now confused and somewhat afraid that he would wind up in trouble, tried to explain it to his mother.  "I just told Auntie Mac to sit in Uncle Harm's lap 'cause there's no chairs."

Harriet looked at the reddened, laughing Mac and Harm and couldn't help but join the raucous hilarity; she set down her burden and went to hug her son.  "AJ," she said with motherly amusement and affection clear in her tone, "someday we will tell this story and you'll get it.  For now, just trust me when I tell you that you did a good thing."

AJ's wide eyes grew wider and he nodded seriously at his mother, who, like the rest of the adults, was still laughing.  "Okay, Mama."  He turned around to survey the crowd and discovered that Uncle Mikey was crying.  Not knowing that one could truly laugh until one cried, he assumed the worst and went to his young relative.  "Don't cry, Uncle Mikey.  Auntie Mac will still like you, too."

The second quarter of the New England-Detroit game was well underway before anything remotely resembling normal conversation could happen in the Roberts' household.

Dinner was served at the end of that game, with dessert to follow the Washington-Dallas game, by prior agreement between Harriet and Mac.  As the hostess and Harm set dinner on the table, Big Bud arrived, sober and in a remarkably good mood.  He even had a gift for Little AJ, which thrilled the child no end.

"Dad, you really didn't have to do that," Bud said with a smile to take any reprimand out of his tone as he reached out to hug his father.

Big Bud returned the hug.  "I know, son.  But I saw it and thought that I'd have a lot of fun playing with my grandson and his new Matchbox track set."  He traded up to hug his taller, younger son.  "You look real good, Mikey.  Academy life agrees with you."

"Yeah, Dad, it does."  The midshipman and his brother exchanged a long, confused look over their father's shoulder.  "You look good, too."

The older man stepped away and lowered his head, humbling himself before his sons.  "I've started going to AA," he confessed softly.  "After Bud's…well, let's say that what happened was a wake up call like I've never had before."

The sons reached out to him and the three shared another hug before they went together into the dining room.

The admiral was the first to greet them.  "We've sworn off rank and rate for the day, so I guess you'll have to go by Big Bud," he said as he extended his hand, not really happy to see him but wanting to be civil for all concerned.  "Can I get you a beer?"

"No, thank you, AJ.  I'll get some soda or juice in a few minutes."  He turned to be greeted by Mac and Sturgis, leaving a confused AJ to stare at Mikey and Bud.

"AA," they said together with identical shrugs.

AJ smiled at them, some of his initial irritation dissipating with that welcome news.

Only Mac recognized the pin on Big Bud's lapel; she whispered her congratulations to him as she hugged him briefly.  "Thirty days – and counting?"

"Forty-three," Big Bud whispered back.  "Help me?"

She nodded.  "What can I get you?"

"Whatever you're having would be fine, Mac."

Mac went to the kitchen, only to be stopped by Harm and Harriet.  "Was that Big Bud I heard?" Harm asked before Harriet could.

"Yes."

"Asking for whatever **you're** having?" queried the man's daughter-in-law incredulously.

"Yes.  AA.  Forty-three days and counting."  She filled two glasses with ice from the freezer and moved to the sink.

Harriet smiled and shook her head.  "Miracles never really do cease once you know where to look for them."  She slipped around Harm to deliver the gravy and mashed potatoes to the table.

"Redskins are going to win by 1," Harm taunted, sidling up behind Mac at the sink to kiss her cheek.  The Patriots had won by 8.

"Dallas by a touchdown and you're going to owe me a night at 1789 – honey."  She returned the favor.  "Thinking about what you're going to say when we sit down?"

"I," he declared, still standing behind her and wishing his hands weren't dripping with turkey juices from his carving duties, "know exactly what I'm going to say.  You?"

Mac slipped out from him.  "I have a pretty good idea, but you're going first."

Little AJ came in with a message that he enunciated with excruciating care, making it obvious that he had been well coached.  "Uncle Harm.  Auntie Mac.  Uncle AJ says to get your sixes into the dining room or he'll come in here with a camera.  Does 'conduct unbecoming' ring a bell?"

Mac set the two glasses down and bent over to hug her godson.  "How long did Uncle AJ work with you to say that?"

"Since Daddy came home."  

Chegwidden had been a frequent visitor during Bud's recovery process and it had been a given that the group would spend Thanksgiving together.  Harm and Mac exchanged helpless glances; they had been handily had by their commanding officer.

A few minutes later, Isaiah Turner had the attention of the table and said grace.  As the turkey went around the table, the person dishing the turkey shared what he or she was most grateful for in the past year – above and beyond the obvious ones of life, good health, family, and friends.

Mikey Roberts, just by happenstance, picked up the platter first.  "Well, I'm thankful that I have the opportunity to better myself at the Academy, and that I have such wonderful role models to set my standards by."  He started to pass it to his right; Mac nudged him and he passed left instead to Harriet.

The blonde shrugged and smiled as she piled moist white meat onto her plate.  "I'm thankful for so much that it's hard to say just one thing.  But I guess beyond the obvious, I'm most thankful that Little AJ likes his school so much – I don't feel guilty dropping him off when I go to work.  AJ?"

AJ Chegwidden looked around the table before he spoke.  "I'm thankful that I have the best job in the entire United States Navy, and it's all because of you.  Certain others notwithstanding…"  It was a breech in decorum, but since no one at the table, with the possible exception of Isaiah Turner, willingly sought to be in the same room with the person to whom he referred, he figured he could get away with it.  The wave of suppressed laughter assured him of that.

"AJ," the chaplain chided, taking the platter from him, "I'm shocked.  In all seriousness, I am thankful that I still have the opportunity to minister to God's children, wherever and whoever they are.  Even the ones I don't like.  On to you, Sturgis."

"I'm thankful no one has called me Alec Baldwin in the past ten days," the submariner commented dryly, earning a good laugh.  "But since I know that Mac will now be calling me that the entire time we're away on assignment…"  He waited for another ripple of amusement to fade.  "I'm thankful that I have the opportunity to better myself, as well, by working with and competing against the very best military lawyers in the world."

"Here, here!"  Harm raised his glass.

"He was talking about Mac and Bud and me," AJ reproved with a wink at Mac.

"Busted, Sailor," Mac murmured when Harm pouted.

"Moving on," Big Bud began.  "I am thankful that I've been given the chance to make amends and get on the right path, and that I have people praying for me and working with me to help me do it."  When he set the platter down, his older son reached out to squeeze his hand in acknowledgement.

Bud, too, looked around the table, making eye contact with each individual before he spoke.  "I am thankful," he started in a quiet voice, "that I have a big screen TV on which to watch Thanksgiving Day football because it makes me a very popular man."  Harriet groaned while the others laughed; Bud put his hand up for silence and went on.  "Seriously, I am thankful that I have hope and several wonderful reasons to go on living a full, rewarding life that one day will include touch football on Thanksgiving Day before Detroit loses to the invaders from afar and Dallas slaughters whomever the unlucky visitor is."

"Amen to that," Sturgis approved, lifting his glass for a real toast this time.

When the glasses were settled back on the table it was Harm's turn.  The aviator served himself and Little AJ some turkey before he began.  When he did, he looked in only one place, which everyone in the room could have predicted.  They could not have predicted his words.  "I personally am most thankful for bees."

Nor could they have known Mac could turn the shade of scarlet she did at his words.  They were wrong in assuming embarrassment brought the color to Mac's face, but the real meaning of Harm's words was so personal between the star-crossed officers that explaining it, even had one or the other been so inclined, would have been impossible.

"'smy turn!"  Little AJ had waited long enough; from his seat between his godparents – carefully chosen and requested a long time ago – he demanded his turn to speak.

"Go ahead, AJ," his namesake urged, letting parents and godparents off the hook.

"I'm glad my new house is big enough for everyone I love to come today."  The Roberts' previous apartment had been fairly spacious, but AJ's point was well made.  No way could the entire gathering sit at the same table in the same room.  "Your turn, Auntie Mac."

She, too, looked in only one place when she spoke.  "I'm thankful for halves."

Harm didn't blush, but the smile on his face got inexplicably – and unbelievably – wider and brighter as he held her gaze.  Once again, the real meaning was completely lost on those watching, but the sentiment came through loud and clear.  Things were finally moving on the Rabb-Mackienzie romance front.

=====

0230 Zulu/2130 Local  
Mac's Apartment, Georgetown, Washington, D.C.

"I wish I could change it all so you wouldn't have to go," Harm said as Mac sat down beside him on the couch and placed the two cups of coffee on the table in front of them.

"I know you do, Harm.  But you can't and I won't back out, so we'll just have to hope that we can nail Colonel Waters or clear him quickly so I can be back to see the end of your first trial as a judge."

He lifted his eyebrow as he slipped his right arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to his side.  "What, so you can laugh at me?"

"No.  So I can be even prouder of you than I already am."  She picked up her cup then laid her head on his shoulder, tilting her head at just the right angle to sip contentedly and lean at the same time.

"Thank you," he whispered.  He, too, reached for his drink; he kissed the top of her head before he settled back against the sofa.  "Did you mean it, earlier, when you said you were thankful for halves?"

"Your brains and my looks or my brains and your looks, whichever halves our children inherit are just fine with me, honey."  _That certainly made a bold statement_, she thought.  It wasn't quite what she'd meant to say, but it left no doubt how she felt.  She looked at him and noticed that the blue-green eyes she could lose herself in so easily were wet with tears.  "Harm?"

Without a word, he put his cup down and took hers from her to place it next to his on the table.  He reached over her body and pulled her into his lap, cradling her against him and rocking her as his tears continued.  "Sarah.  My sweet, sweet Sarah."

Mac relaxed into his embrace, feeling again that odd synchronization as their hearts steadied into a unison beat.  She trailed the fingers of her left hand through the tears, amazed at seeing her tough sailor cry twice in one year.  

They sat like that for a long time, savoring the contact and the intimacy, before he spoke in a husky, angst-tinged voice.  "I talked to Sturgis the other day when you were out," he started.  "He was wondering what to do about a ring for you.  I told him I would take care of it."

Mac inhaled sharply as Harm shifted under her a little, digging into his right front trouser pocket for a moment before he settled again.  He held his closed right hand on her thigh.

"I couldn't personalize it too much," he apologized, looking up to meet her soft chocolate eyes.  "But I couldn't let you go without something to remember that I'm back here waiting for you."  Harm lifted his hand and opened it to her, revealing an elegant gold band.  "The inscription reads, 'To my princess, my beloved.'"

Mac choked a little on tears of her own as she let his words take root in her soul.  "Oh, Harm."  The words came out as a moan that would have been erotic under other circumstances.

He smiled at her, letting the depth of his love begin to show.  "Sarah, when you come back, we'll figure out where it really belongs, but for now…"

Mac's eyes widened as Harm took her left hand and slid the ring onto her fourth finger, kissing it into place with tenderness she still wondered at, even after all the times she had seen it and been its recipient.  She took his face between her palms and bent to kiss him, but he interrupted her.

"Please don't," he begged, putting his hands over hers and turning his face to kiss each open palm.  "Not because I don't want to, Sarah, but because if I do, it won't stop there."

She read the desperation in his eyes and understood suddenly how hard he was fighting his own desire, and why.  It was the single most selfless thing any human being had ever done for Sarah Mackenzie, and for it she loved him even more.  She had been thinking about giving him a token to keep, but his incredible gesture made her change the item in her mind.

"You okay?" he murmured against her palms after several seconds of silence.

"I'm speechless," she admitted, turning her hands over to catch his and draw them together between their bodies.  She took a deep breath.  "I was going to give you my Globe and Anchor to keep for me, but after this…" she wiggled her newly be-ringed left hand in his right to emphasize her point, "…I thought of something else that's even more important to me.  And easier for you to keep close to your heart."

 "Mac, I don't think that black lace bra you wore in Afghanistan will fit me," Harm teased with a smile, unable to keep the joke inside.

"Honey, if I left you a bra, it wouldn't be a black one," she shot back with an impish grin as she took her hands from his and put them behind her back.  "Now, seriously."  Her hands came back in front of her and she reached up to his neck with one while her left remained in her lap.

He squirmed as her gentle fingers found the steel ball chain of his dog tags and lifted it up over his head.  "Open that for me, please, then close your eyes," she ordered in what he had always imagined might be her bedroom voice.

He did as she asked; after a long moment, he felt her arms lift and the tags drop onto his chest, a bit heavier than before.  Then her hands glided up his chest and under the tags before she told him to open his eyes.  He saw her gift and knew just what he had been given.

"Keep my ring safe, Harm."

"Are you sure, Sarah?  I know what this represents to you."  It was her Marine Corps ring, the one that represented all she had overcome to be the woman who sat in his arms – the ring that reminded her of the past she never wanted to return to and the future she wanted so badly.  And then he realized the new meaning it would have for her after he left with it tonight.  _Us_.  "Sarah," he breathed in awe.

"Keep us safe, Harm.  For me.  For us."  She closed her eyes and lowered her head to his chest.  "You could stay," she whispered.  "Just to hold me."

He needed no convincing; a short time later, he had been out to his car for his overnight bag and both he and Mac had changed into sweats and t-shirts.  They stood in her bedroom on either side of her double bed, nervous even without any impending sexual activity.

"Well, this will be a first for this bed," Mac quipped, earning a funny look from Harm.  "New mattress and box spring," she answered his unspoken question.

_I guess I really did wonder that,_ Harm smiled to himself.  _It's time to do the same at my place, too._  He lay down on the bed in one swift motion.  "I want you in my arms, my princess, my beloved." 

Mac joined him, snuggling across his chest with a delighted, peaceful sigh.  "There's nowhere else I'd rather be, my love."


	5. V

_Disclaimers in part I._

1235 Zulu/0735 Local  
Dulles International Airport, Virginia – 29 November 2002

"Sturgis, you're late.  It must be a Navy trait."  Mac laughed as the submariner struggled with a backpack and a recalcitrant rolling suitcase that kept tipping to its side.

"You must have driven yourself if you're here on time, then, because no way would Harm have been up early enough on a day off to…"  Harm's classmate looked at his fellow officer with narrowed eyes.  "Unless he had a Marine around to kick his six out of bed."

"Nah," she denied, knowing that Sturgis meant "slept together" in the sexual sense and thus comfortable with the denial.  "I just threatened not to come home for Christmas if he didn't get to my place in time to get me here for 0700."

Turner laughed; that he could believe, although he wasn't so sure it was the truth.  "Are we going to have trouble getting through security and to our gate on time?"  Dulles was back to advising 2 hours during the holidays; they now had an hour and twenty minutes and weren't even inside the terminal, having decided to meet and go undercover together at the Transportation Security Administration main office.

"No – we're flying first class and the flight is less than half-full anyway.  But we should get our baggage checked in soon."  Mac opened the outer zippered pocket of her suitcase and pulled out an heirloom embroidered headscarf from her grandmother that she very carefully wrapped around her head.

The head of the TSA, having been told enough about the assignment to know better than to ask too many questions, laughed at the transformation.  "Personally, you look more threatening without it.  Now you certainly don't look like a Marine."

"I don't feel like one, either," she grumbled.  "But it's for a good cause.  You're sure we're okay with the identity documents?"

"They're military issued photo IDs and you're traveling on military orders.  Not a problem."

"Thanks, man," Sturgis acknowledged, shaking his hand before leading Mac out to the taxi in which they would "arrive".  It was elaborate, but undercover operations had been blown for lesser details than that.

Twenty-five minutes later, the two officers sat in the passenger lounge for their flight to Hawaii as Major Ibrahim Yassin and his wife Azizah Akilah, whose family had long ago given her the nickname Azaki.  And as much as Sturgis and Mac wanted to partake of the Starbucks just up the concourse, Ibrahim and Azaki were fasting for Ramadan.  They could have broken the fast for the day, as travelers were exempted under Islamic custom and law from the restrictions of the fast, but both had deemed that too complicated to explain should anyone question.  The downside was that the combination of flights and a layover in Minneapolis would put them in Honolulu at just after 1600 local, meaning they would have to wait until after 2300 Washington time to eat again – sundown was at 1748 in Hawaii and true nightfall about 20 minutes later.

"Oh, Ibrahim, I had to take my wedding band off at security and now I can't remember where I put it," Mac exclaimed, reaching for her shoulder bag.

"I think you put it in your dress pocket, Azaki."  He let a little exasperation color his tone.

Mac glared at him, then fished in the pocket for a moment before pulling her hand out, only to have the gold band slip from her fingers to the floor in front of her "husband's" feet.

"I've got it, 'ki."  Sturgis took the time to read the inscription on the ring, knowing that Harm had chosen it and thankful that Mac had found a way to let him do that without arousing suspicion.  He had forgotten to ask back at TSA.

He let the displeased expression melt away, as though he were a husband reminded of the amazing power of love.  With a sigh, he took her hand and slid the ring into place, repeating the words to her.  "To my princess, my beloved."  Sturgis might have been the one saying the words, but he had no doubt from the expression on Mac's face that she was hearing Harm's voice.  The man had outdone himself, and Sturgis had to comment on it.  With as much apology as he could invest in his timbre for the sake of the cover and because he wasn't the man she loved, he added, "The man who gave that to you must love you very much."

Mac smiled at him with the smile he had only seen directed at Harm, and he could tell she was really looking through him.  "He does."

To anyone watching, they were a couple very much in love, even though they obviously had their problems.

=====

1545 Zulu/1045 Local  
Office of the Commandant of the Marine Corps, The Pentagon, Arlington, Virginia

"Colonel John Richards to see the Staff Judge Advocate," the arriving daytime watch intelligence liaison of the National Military Command Center said to the staff sergeant who sat in the reception area of the Commandant's office suite.

"Sir, welcome aboard.  Colonel Harris is out on emergency leave, but he briefed the Commandant and the General would like to meet with you in the colonel's stead.  I'll let General Caine know you're here."

John waited but a few minutes before the sergeant called him into the back offices.  He was shocked that General Caine met him at the door of the ranking man's private office.

"Colonel Richards, it's very nice to meet you, although not under these circumstances.  Please, have a seat."

Obviously, the Commandant was foregoing military protocol to a point this morning – it was, after all, a holiday of sorts, with the uniform of the day simply the working khakis rather than the winter dress of a normal day.  "Thank you, sir," Colonel Richards replied crisply before he sat in the chair opposite the older man in the seating area.  Something else the new arrival hadn't expected.

"I'll get right to the point, Colonel.  I was part of a conference call last week about Colonel Waters that made my stomach turn.  What little you gave to my JAG seems to confirm the worst, but I'd like to hear the whole of your report, if you don't mind."

"Certainly, sir."  John talked for 20 minutes, laying out both the incidents to which he had been witness and those of which he had heard either from direct reports or through scuttlebutt.  He concluded with his final meeting a few days before.

"He actually said that word in a semi-official conversation with another officer while wearing the Marine Corps Globe and Anchor?"  Commandant Caine's gray eyes flared as his tan face flushed.

"Yes, sir."

"Bastard.  Is he the only military officer involved in these incidents?"

Here's where it got sticky for the former Executive Officer of the Third Marine Regiment.  "I don't believe so, sir, but I have no direct evidence to say who else was involved.  That part has been kept amazingly quiet."

"Blanket parties.  Racist graffiti.  Obstructing religious observance rights.  Harassment.  In my Marine Corps?  I don't think so."  The General leapt up from his wing chair and – so it seemed to his guest – stabbed the intercom in the same motion, despite the 10-foot separation.  "Staff Sergeant Caldwell, get me the service jackets for all those being considered for XO of Third Regiment.  Yesterday."

"Aye, sir!" came the reply.

"Colonel, you and I are taking a short trip once those folders get here.  We're going to supplement an active investigation."

Colonel Richards could only stare at his leader, wondering what his wife would say when he called to tell her he wouldn't be back at their hotel for that late lunch.

=====

1705 Zulu/1205 Local  
JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, Virginia

"Thank you for seeing us on short notice, AJ.  Sorry to have interrupted your quiet holiday weekend."

"General Caine, there is no such thing as a quiet holiday weekend at JAG," AJ Chegwidden laughed, ushering his visitors in after handshakes and introductions.  "Especially when I have two officers on the way to Hawaii to start dealing with this matter as we speak."  The JAG office, too, was dressed down; AJ's SEAL Trident shone bright against his black long sleeve shirt and it had not escaped the notice of the lower ranking of his visitors.

"You're a SEAL, Admiral?" Colonel Richards had to ask.

"Ooh rah, Colonel.  Two tours in Vietnam and some very hairy ones in places I still can't talk about."

"My dad was a SEAL, too.  Jackson Richards, retired as CO of the east coast units."

"Sure," AJ said, seeing a resemblance.  "Jack and I were on Team 3 together for a while back…you were probably 3 or 4 at the time."

"Coronado.  That's about right, because it was between his tours in Vietnam, too.  Small world."

General Caine, who had been Marine Recon and worked with many SEALS in Vietnam, added his two cents.  "I worked with your father a few times, now that you mention it.  AJ and I go back to that time, too."  He waved his arms.  "As much as I'd rather reminisce, Colonel Richards has some additional information for your undercover operatives – " General Caine saw AJ wince at the words and amended his statement, "– um , officers to bear in mind, and I'd like to talk with you about an additional avenue of investigation."

The admiral thought for a moment about a private conversation he'd had with Isaiah Turner the previous day.  The retired chaplain's idea was an extremely good one, but maybe the Commandant had a better one.  "If it will expedite the matter, I'm all for it."

Colonel Richards waited for a nod from the general before he began.  "Admiral, I arrived at MCB Hawaii 26 months ago for a 3 year tour as XO of Third Regiment.  Until 13 months ago, I was loving every minute of it."

"Waters arrived in October 2001, didn't he?" the admiral guessed.

"Yes, sir.  My first meeting with the colonel was to review fitreps on the regimental and battalion staff.  He made some questionable remarks about several of the officers, and all I could figure was that he made assumptions based on last names because there were no pictures or indications of ethnicity in what we covered."

AJ smiled.  "I wonder what he would have made of Chegwidden."

That relaxed Colonel Richards a little; he smiled in return and continued.  "I'd rather not think about it, sir.  When we met the staff, I could see that he was taken aback by some of the men.  I'll give you examples.  Howard Thurmond was a name he commented about, saying something about it being nice to have someone obviously from the South who would agree with the Senator and him on several key issues.  Major Howard Thurmond is an African-American, sir – from New Jersey, and a damned fine battalion commander whose last two fitreps before his recent transfer put him in danger of capping out at O-4 for no good reason.  Our regimental logistics officer was Major David Eisenstein.  Water's comments about the name are unrepeatable, sir.  The two years prior to Colonel Water's arrival, Dave's unit won the Commandant's Award for efficiency and preparedness, but the first fitrep the colonel did on the major would have cost him his career had Pacific Theater Command not stepped in and advised the colonel to reevaluate him.  Even so, it was David's fitrep that cost the unit their third CA."

"Systematic discrimination.  Have you kept your own records on these officers, Colonel?"  AJ asked.

"Yes, sir, and I've been careful to document evidence that will, if allowed after this investigation, remove the worst of the smears from their records.  Colonel Waters is not quite as rabidly anti-Catholic, but he does come down much harder on those he knows are Roman Catholic than on others.  He would have no Arabs in the regiment at all if he could find a way to get them out.  He actually called his new Intelligence officer something I won't repeat again, just based on his last name."  It had been hard enough to say it to the Commandant earlier.

AJ grimaced.  "Well, we were looking for a way to push his buttons.  Ibrahim Yassin was certainly a good opening."

"Yours?"  The Commandant hadn't told him much in the way of details.

"Yes, and his 'wife'."

"They could be in grave danger, sir."  At a look from the admiral, he continued.  "Between Christmas and Easter, there were a number of incidents on base we were not able to close out.  That's the official word, but the reality is that Colonel Waters managed to convince the base CO to stop the investigations.  He said, and I'm quoting as best I can here, 'It's a waste of manpower for us to be chasing teenage hooligans.  We'll get the parents together and issue warnings, but let's let the boys be boys.'  Sirs, I know there's a lot of information available on the Internet, but the people who bombed a duplex in enlisted housing where a Jewish family lived and a single-family home in officer country inhabited by an African-American couple were able to do so in broad daylight using regimental property that was signed out and accounted for by some of Waters' buddies on base – and not all of them are in Third Regiment, either."

Ever the lawyer, Chegwidden leaned forward at his desk and twined his fingers together.  These were the hate crimes PACFLT was worried about, then.  "What did they say when questioned by NCIS?"

"They weren't sir.  Waters stopped the investigations before NCIS got that far."

"Then how do you know?" 

"A tenacious NCIS agent who decided to keep probing unofficially and who came to me in confidence once he had a few pieces of concrete evidence."

"Get him here, then."

"I'd love to, Admiral Chegwidden, but he was murdered three months ago."

General Caine held up his hand before AJ could react; this had been news to him, too, when Richards told him earlier.  "The case is still open, AJ.  I called before we came over to talk with the lead agent in Pearl – woke him up on his day off, in fact.  They know it was murder, but the killer or killers knew exactly what to do to cover tracks.  It's a cold case at this point."

The JAG looked away for a moment, thinking about Mac and Sturgis.  "My lead investigator will be working part time at NCIS.  If anyone can figure it out, she can.  You mentioned another avenue of investigation."

"Yes, AJ, I did.  Colonel Richards and I have looked at the complete service jackets of all the candidates for his replacement and they are all excellent officers."  General Caine plopped the stack of folders on AJ's desk.  "But not one of them is, for lack of a more succinct term, a WASP.  Our thinking is that we should send someone in to cozy up to him, maybe even get close enough to participate in something that we can use to get him out of there."

"A retired chaplain who mentored the head chaplain at Pearl said exactly the same thing to me, figuring it was a long shot that the regiment would have two ranking billets open at the same time."  Isaiah Turner would have made an outstanding strategic officer, the admiral thought, not for the first time.

Richards laughed unpleasantly.  "I had to get out.  I got my colonelcy more than a year earlier than I anticipated and that gave me options I didn't have three months ago.  Please tell me you have someone, Admiral, because if you don't, I'm really afraid of what might happen"

AJ had the perfect person – Chaplain Turner had that right, as well.  But would Harm be available early enough?  "I have the ideal candidate, Colonel.  And he will be delighted to take the assignment just as soon as I can get him clear."

"What's the holdup?"  General Caine wanted movement, now.

"He's adjudicating a case that's expected to go for two weeks, according to counsel."

"Speed them up, AJ."

"I'm one of the counsels, General."

_And that_, AJ noted to himself, _is how you shut ranking officers up._

=====

1810 Zulu/1310 Local  
JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, Virginia

"Lieutenant Singer, a word, please."  AJ tried to keep a smile in his voice, but it wasn't easy given the altercation he had just heard as he walked back through the bullpen with his leftover turkey lunch.

"Yes, sir."  The young woman, whose pregnancy now showed as just a little more than a thickening waistline, had the look of a scolded puppy as she preceded him into his office.

"Have a seat, Ms. Singer.  What was that I just heard?"

"A disagreement, sir.  Lt. Cmdr. Manetti got the DNA results back and talked with Lt. Roberts.  They're offering our clients a plea bargain now."

"Do the tests show that our clients engaged in sexual relations with the victim?"

"Apparently so, sir, but I still believe them when they say it was consensual."

AJ hadn't from the first, but one was not required to believe one's clients' protestations of innocence to defend them adequately.  "Did you read the report?"

"That's what we were arguing about.  I won't talk to our clients until the report has been properly logged in the discovery phase, but Commander Manetti can't enter it with Commander Rabb until Monday.  That means it will be Tuesday before I can talk with them, but the prosecution is putting a Monday morning deadline on the plea."

For once, Singer was right, a thought which annoyed the admiral because he knew he should be more impressed with the young officer's skills than he was.  With a raised eyebrow at his co-counsel, he pressed the intercom and called for Tiner before he remembered that the young man was on leave.  "Go ahead and laugh, Loren.  It is pretty funny."

He felt better when the lieutenant relaxed enough to let out a giggle as he paged Lt. Cmdr. Manetti.  With Manetti on the way, he dialed Lt. Roberts' home number; once Bud was on the line, he tried Harm's apartment, then his cell, as Tracy Manetti entered and took a seat.

The man on the other end was winded, AJ noted.  "Rabb," the voice finally came.

"Commander, it's a very good thing I know where the colonel is or I might get the wrong idea."  Tracy and Loren exchanged amused glances before him.

"Admiral!  I'm braving the cold in Rock Creek Park.  What can I do for you?" 

Harm either hadn't caught the innuendo or was ignoring it.  _C'est la vie._  "Can you spare 10 minutes, Your Honor?"

"Over the phone or in person, sir?"

"Over the phone.  I've got Bud on the other line and Tracy and Loren here with me.  Hold on."  The admiral managed the conference connection smoothly and put the two men on speakerphone.  "I'm sorry to interrupt your leave, gentlemen, but I think that this will be well worth it.  Commander Manetti, please explain why we're all here."

The new staff member had the grace to blush a bit at the tone but found her confidence quickly as she outlined in broad strokes the results of the DNA testing on the two men accused of rape at Oceana NAS.

"I take it you'd like that introduced into evidence, Commander Manetti?" Harm asked from Rock Creek Park.

"Well, sir," she started, her southern accent thick.  "We thought Monday was early enough, but defense counsel won't accept that delay."

"We won't accept it, sir, because the prosecution wants us to offer our clients a plea without seeing the report in full."  Loren jumped hard but without the rancor of her earlier confrontation with Tracy.

"You don't have a case!"  Bud's passion about the issue of violence against women was the key reason he was prosecuting rather than defending.  "They should have taken the first offer we made."

"Lt. Roberts, that's enough," the judge admonished.  "Lt. Cmdr. Manetti, do you have copies ready for the court and for defense counsel?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then ask Chief Wallace to take the report into discovery as evidence and give defense counsel their copy.  What are you offering?"

"Twenty years confinement at hard labor and dishonorable discharge," Bud replied a beat before his co-prosecutor.  "Pleading to charges of rape and aggravated sexual assault."  Obviously this wasn't the first interruption to his vacation day.

"Rape is a capital offense," Tracy added, reminding the defense just how lucky their clients would be to get only 20 years from members of a court martial who had already convicted them.

Loren grunted.  "Only if they did it."

"I expect that you will have an answer from your clients about the offer on Monday morning before the Article 32, Admiral Chegwidden, Lieutenant Singer."

"Yes, Your Honor," the two defense attorneys chorused.

"Thank you, sir," Bud said from his home to Harm at Rock Creek Park.

"Don't thank me, Bud, thank the Admiral.  Is that all, sir?"

"For now, Commander.  Have a good weekend, Harm, Bud."  The two men signed off and AJ hung up the phone.

"Cmdr. Manetti, Lt. Singer, you are dismissed – and please, peace and quiet for the rest of the day."

The two women snapped up to attention and answered, "Aye, aye, sir!"

He expected Singer back within the hour once she had the DNA results in hand, but maybe, just maybe, he could get some other work done first.

=====

0325 Zulu/2225 EST/1725 Local  
Suite 2111, Hilton Hotel, Honolulu, Hawaii

"How's the room, Mac?" Sturgis asked, stepping through the open bedroom door of their hotel suite.

"Terrific.  Check out the view," she replied, sweeping her arm toward the patio door and the setting sun over the Pacific Ocean beyond.  

Her Farsi accent hadn't faltered once since she stepped into the taxi back at Dulles, and he had to struggle to understand her sometimes.  He got that okay, though, and shrugged.  "Matches mine.  Are you going to call before we go to break our fast?"

"Iftar is the word you're looking for, and yes, I am.  I'll be ready in 15 – the Imam said 1800, right?"

"Yep.  Tell Harm I said hello."

"Who said I'm calling Harm?  We're supposed to check in with the Admiral."

Sturgis just looked at her, held up his left hand, and wiggled his simply adorned ring finger at her, eliciting a guilty flush from her before he closed the door to give her some privacy.

Mac extracted her cell phone from her shoulder bag and dialed the number from memory, cursing the need to erase her speed dial settings for the duration of the assignment as she waited for someone to pick up on the other end.

"You know, Ninja Girl, your punctuality can be downright annoying to a mere Flyboy."

She grinned, knowing she'd snagged him, and answered without the verbal affectation of her cover.  "You were in the head, weren't you?"

"I misread the clock," Harm whined in his defense.  "And I was distracted thinking about how much I miss you."

"Really?"

"You bet.  It's been 15 hours and…25 minutes since I last hugged you."

Mac laughed.  "Twenty-nine, but close enough.  How was your day off?"

"Not quite completely off, but maybe productive anyway, depending.  I can't really talk about that – being the judge and all that."

"Smug, aren't we?  Well, that's to be expected, as long as I'm not around for the admiral to compare you to."  Would he rise to the bait or stay serious?  She'd know if she could see him, but, the eyebrow that gave him away couldn't send signals over the phone.

"That's true, because you're the best, Mac.  You know, I slept better last night than I have in a long time."

Serious.  She could go with that.  "Me, too."  No nightmares and six straight hours, something of a record.

"We should do that again sometime.  Repeatedly."

"Someday, Harm.  Someday."  The thought made her tingle all over.

"Just remember the ring, Sarah."

"You, too, Harm.  Call the admiral, would you please?"

"Shouldn't you call him yourself?"

"He, um…well, he kind of said it was okay tonight for you to call him because of the tight timing on our end.  One starving Marine here – I haven't eaten since the bagel and coffee in the car on the way to the airport."  Just before sunrise 16 hours and five time zones ago.

"Admiral Chegwidden actually let you call me instead of him?  Mac, he's on to us."

"Duh, Flyboy.  Between our godson and what we said at the table yesterday, everybody is on to us now."  She hadn't yet figured out that everybody was on to them pretty much within minutes of seeing the two together for the first time and that it had been so for over six years.

"You know what I like about that?"

"What?"

"There's an us.  And I'll bet you've got to go."

"Yeah.  I miss you, Harm.  More every minute."

"Just remember we have a date on Christmas Eve."

"And I hope one a lot sooner than that, like the dinner you owe me at 1789.  Gotta go, Flyboy."

"Be careful, Sarah – my princess, my beloved," he replied, and in Hawaii she shivered at the depth of tenderness in his voice.

"I will, my beloved prince."  And before he could react, she severed the connection.

In Washington, a confused but elated sailor looked at his cordless phone in wonder, while in Hawaii, a starving but very happy Marine opened the door to the man who was playing her husband as she put her headscarf back in place.

Sturgis gave Mac a wry smile.  "I'm guessing that was a good conversation."

On went the accent.  "You could say that.  Feed me, Ibrahim."  She held out her arm to him.

"Your wish is my command.  Or else my ass is grass."  He noticed her questioning gaze.  "Harm."  It was all he needed to say.


	6. VI

_Disclaimers in part I._

1530 Zulu/1030 Local  
Brig, Washington Naval Yard, Washington, D.C. – 1 December 2002

"Admiral, I hate to admit this, but it looks like our clients might actually be guilty of something," Lt. Loren Singer said as she and her commanding officer walked outside in the brisk late autumn chill.  They were waiting for their clients to be dismissed from religious services.

"Lieutenant Singer, something I've learned from experience is that a good portion of the time when you're defending clients, they really did do it.  It's just that the prosecution can't always prove it as convincingly as Roberts and Manetti will be able to prove this case."  _Hell_, he added to himself, _even some of the clients Rabb and Mackenzie have gotten off were guilty of some offense, just not the ones they were charged with._

Singer slumped in defeat.  "The fingernail scrapings and defensive wounds really do us in."

AJ looked at his young officer, debating what tone to take with her.  He opted for genteel.  "Loren, do you know what separates a good lawyer from a great lawyer?"

She nodded with a quick answer.  "Percentage of cases won, sir."

"No, lieutenant, although that's what most people think.  What truly separates the good lawyers from the great lawyers is whether the cases they try are resolved to the truth."

Had she been a little more open to self-examination, Singer would have realized that her boss had given her the key to advancement, indeed, to the fulfillment of her goal to be the JAG eventually.  But Loren Singer wasn't the type to reflect on herself very often and so she let that pearl of wisdom slide by her while she thought about a counter plea.  "Sir, how about a plea to felony aggravated assault, 10-15 years confinement with dishonorable discharge to avoid the sex offender label?"

AJ sighed.  She really was hopeless, this one.  "Lieutenant Singer, what part of that DNA report did you not understand?  Roberts and Manetti were in a very generous mood to give us 20 years for sexual assault plus the discharge.  If we go to trial with the evidence against us, our clients could very well get life – or even, perhaps, death, since the Court of Military Appeals seems to be leaning toward stronger rather than lighter punishments and is unlikely to overturn a capital conviction."

"Are you ordering me not to offer a counter-plea, sir?"  Her strident tone said volumes.

The admiral sighed.  He had never liked to pull rank earlier in his legal career when he sat second chair to junior officers and it galled him to think he needed to now, but he recognized Singer's defiance.  "If I must, Lieutenant."

An hour later, the admiral and the lieutenant arrived back at JAG headquarters to draft the plea agreement.  Their clients would plead guilty to rape and to aggravated sexual assault, not even close to just punishment for ruining a woman's life and two promising military careers and for wasting over 2.5 million dollars of the taxpayers' money in 30 ill-used minutes.

=====

1830 Zulu/0830 Local  
Officers' Quarters, Marine Corps Base Hawaii

Sturgis was still not having an easy time understanding exactly what Mac said through her thick Farsi accent; a couple of times the previous day she had needed to glare at him so as not to have him break their cover.  This was such a time.  Sturgis heard, "Foontsbery nace," causing him to meet her fierce gaze to get the meaning while the housing officer supervised the small crew working to off-load the contents of four large shipping crates for the Yassins.  

Then he realized that she had actually said, "Furniture is very nice," as they got their first look at their partially furnished temporary home. 

"Oh, yes, it is, Azaki," he said finally.  They were going to spend the day working on their communications skills, the irony of which with regard to her relationship with Harm was not at all lost on the submariner.

"No, not there.  Please put it here," Mac announced to one of the movers when he tried to place a small walnut table in the kitchen.  She waved to the breakfast nook to emphasize her point.

"Master bedroom?" another asked Sturgis, nodding at the full-sized mattress and box spring set he and a partner had just pulled out of the truck.

"No, that's the guest bed," he replied.  Actually, it was his bed, but no one other than Mac knew.  "Second door on the left, and the pine headboard and nightstand go with it.  We had to leave the dresser back in California in storage."  Supposedly, the Yassins had shipped over from Twenty Nine Palms and had departed that base two weeks ago, allowing time for their personal effects to arrive when they did.  Once again, only Mac, Sturgis, and two people at PACFLT headquarters knew that the items had been purchased in Honolulu and packed in the crates as a cover.  The contents had been committed to memory by the two JAG officers on the long flight over.

The moving crew was done by 1100, leaving Mac and Sturgis about three hours to set up housekeeping before the Imam paid a visit to his newest congregants.  Mac kept up the accent; Sturgis slowly began to pick up the nuances of both her spoken words and her non-verbal signals and by the time the doorbell rang at 1355, he hadn't misunderstood anything in over an hour.

Mac quickly put her headscarf back on, then nodded to her partner that all was in order.

"Imam Rais, thank you for coming," Sturgis greeted, ushering the man into their home.

"Please, call me Asif.  We're of a rank," her returned, extending his hand.

"Ibrahim.  And you've met my wife, Azaki."

The Imam smiled and bowed over Mac's hand.  "I have indeed, and she adds much beauty to our small congregation."

Mac would have blushed anyway, so the redness in her cheeks was quite real as she murmured her humble thanks and moved swiftly into the living room to make sure it was presentable.

When the men were seated, she started to go back to the back of the house before Sturgis called to her in a slightly strident tone.  "Azaki, stay."

The Imam watched the couple for a moment before it dawned on him who they must be.  "Okay, I feel really silly now," he admitted.  "I knew you were coming and I didn't figure you out until just now, and that only because of the timing.  You're very good."

"Thank you," Mac replied in a more assertive voice, keeping the accent.

"You're really married, right?"

Sturgis quirked an eyebrow at the religious leader.  "Is it a problem if we aren't?"

"No, no," Asif Rais assured them.  "You just look and act like a married couple with a few problems lingering below the surface.  Now I can see it."

Mac sat back against her chair.  "See what?"

"That you're each pretending the other is someone else.  And that there's tension between the two of you and between each of you and the significant other you're pretending to see."  He had majored in psychology and taken advanced counseling courses after his religious schooling.

"It's an effective cover," the undercover commander noted dryly.  "Safer, too."  And now he wondered what Mac would do with that little observation, given his current tenuous relationship with Bobbi Latham.

"Well, you're very convincingly married, so rest assured about that.  What would you like to know now that you're here?"

"Everything," the two from JAG answered in unison.

The sad part about all of it was that in isolation, very little Colonel Eugene Waters did was truly out of line.  It was the pattern, coupled with the suspicion of illegal activities, that made the situation actionable.  "Father O'Neill and I have been working to collect statements from those who have complained to us but we haven't gotten anyone from JAG involved yet – well, until now.  Are you JAG officers?"

Mac nodded.  "Yes, and with all due respect, Commander, it would be better for all of us if you didn't know too much more at the moment.  We'll come clean at the end."

The Imam smiled with a nod.  "And I'm guessing you outrank me, too.  Fair enough.  Just one more question – are you Muslims?"

"No, we aren't," Sturgis admitted, thinking back to an unpleasant conversation with Loren Singer earlier in the year.

"Then don't feel obliged in the privacy of your own home to keep Siyam."

Mac answered for them.  "Thanks for the dispensation, Commander, but we're prepared and, as the old maxim goes, don't break cover unless you absolutely have to."

"Yes, ma'am.  If you have any questions, please call me whenever," he requested, reaching into his dress blue coat for his business cards.  He extracted one and handed it to Sturgis.  "Cell phone is best but try home if I don't answer that."

"Thank you, Commander Rais.  You've certainly made us feel welcome here, and we're really enjoying the evening meals."

"Oh, just wait until Thursday.  Id al-Fitr is quite an extravaganza around here."

Mac's cell phone rang in the back room and she bade good-bye to Asif Rais, allowing Sturgis to see him to the door.

=====

0110 Zulu/2010 EST/1510 Hawaii  
Admiral Chegwidden's Home, McLean, Virginia

"Azaki Yassin," the thickly accented voice answered 4,800 miles away.

AJ smiled.  "Is it safe for you to drop the accent, I  hope?"

"Admiral!" Mac exclaimed in her normal voice.  "Is everything alright, sir?  We were planning to call you tomorrow night."

"Yes, Colonel, I know.  But several things have happened on this end since Friday and I need you to be in San Diego on Tuesday at noon."  He wondered if Mac would make the connection between San Diego and La Jolla, where he intended the housing for this unexpected and expensive trip to be provided free of charge.  That was his next call.

"Are you yanking me off the case, sir?"

"Far from it, Mac.  I'm sending in the reserves."

"Harm?"

"He would be the reserve in question, yes," he answered, his voice the quality of an exquisite martini.

Mac laughed, and the image of her face in his mind was the one he saw for real only when Little AJ or Harm made her laugh.  "Giving up on us so soon, sir?"

"No.  We just want this case closed before Christmas.  You're going to need to meet Colonel Waters tomorrow and get a read on him yourself, and you'll have Turner's input, as well.  Commander Rabb will need all the advance first-hand knowledge you can give him because he'll need to insinuate himself rapidly."

"You found a way to use his All-America flyboy wholesomeness, I guess."

"Not me, actually.  Chaplain Turner.  With some assistance from the Commandant, who by the way says to tell you hello."  Somehow, AJ had missed the fact that General Caine had been Mac's CO in Bosnia.  "He's been following your career with interest."

"Nice to be remembered.  What is Harm's cover, sir?"

"He will be the new XO of the regiment, with orders to report ASAP.  We're allocuting tomorrow," he explained, knowing Mac would wonder if Harm had been pulled off the bench for doing something stupid.

She laughed again, this time with a sadistic edge.  "I'm sure Lt. Singer was thrilled with that."

"She had no choice.  The DNA evidence was convincing and our clients told us the whole story when we showed them the report.  They were surprised that the prosecution offered such a generous deal as 20 year confinement at hard labor with dishonorable discharge."

"And Loren tried to convince you to counterplea, right, sir?"

"Mac, remind me not to play poker with you.  You're downright scary with that mind reading stuff.  Anyway, San Diego by noon Tuesday.  Don't go through this office to make the arrangements to the mainland under your cover name, but let Tiner know where you're coming in and he'll get your transportation to San Diego arranged for you under your real name.  We'll get all the cover information for Commander Rabb to you at the USO desk wherever you land from Hawaii.  You'll be responsible for briefing him in."

"Aye, sir.  Have a good evening, Admiral."

"You, too, Colonel."  He hung up the phone and wondered just why it was that Mac's psychic abilities hadn't allowed her to see Harm's true feelings much earlier.  "Probably the aviator's hard, thick head,"AJ mumbled to himself, then snorted with a derisive shake of his head.  That was a serious understatement.  And then he had another thought which prompted him to pick up the phone and hit redial.

"Yes, sir?"  Mac answered with what he could tell was a smile.

"Mac, when you talk to Harm tonight, don't tell him."

"Yes, sir."  

_Wait for it, _AJ told himself,_ wait for it_…

"Sir, what makes you think I'll be talking to Commander Rabb tonight?"  The attempt at a tone of innocence failed when she stifled a laugh.

"Just a hunch, Colonel.  Good night."  He could read minds sometimes, too.

=====

1715 Zulu/0715 Local  
Headquarters, Third Marine Regiment, Marine Corps Base Hawaii – 2 December 2002

Sturgis squared his shoulders as he worked up the courage to walk into the building where his new, albeit temporary, office was located, knowing that despite Mac's excellent coaching he was a long way from comfortable pretending to be a Marine.  He thought he looked absurd in the olive drab dress uniform jacket and stiff olive pants, and never mind the color of the fore-and-aft cap that sat on his head at the wrong angle.  And it was wrong in such a subtle way that he couldn't see the difference between that and his proper khaki cover of the same design, but Mac had spotted it and fixed it three times this morning alone.  He would have to rely on sensory memory to get it back on correctly.  At least he could hold his own in the intelligence specialty, having been, as all submariners are, a spook of sorts before he became a lawyer.

Two corporals approached and snapped to attention, throwing razor sharp salutes that he returned crisply, thankful that at least one thing could be automatic on this assignment.  "Good morning, Corporals.  Can you direct me to Colonel Waters' office?"

"Aye, sir," one said.  "The Colonel's office is down the main hall on the left.  His yeoman is Staff Sergeant Monroe."

"Thank you, Corporal.  That will be all."

"Aye, aye, sir!" the two said in unison, executing textbook about faces and marching off toward another building in the distance.

Sturgis set his shoulders to try again, this time succeeding in entering the building and finding his way to the base commander's office.  He announced himself to Staff Sergeant Monroe, who looked him over with the practiced eye of a veteran before announcing the newcomer to the Colonel.

Colonel Waters was slow in responding to Sturgis' presence; the undercover lawyer waited for nearly 20 minutes – _Mac would know to the second_, he laughed to himself – before the interior door opened to reveal the suspect officer.

"Major Yassin."  Colonel Waters' deep voice had a touch of the James Earl Jones timbre in it, an observation which Sturgis was reasonably sure would not win friends and influence people – at least not the colonel.  The man stood in his doorway.

Sturgis popped up from his chair and came to attention.  "Major Ibraham Yassin reporting to Third Marine Regiment for duty as ordered, sir!"

"Enter."  He turned and went back to his desk, simply expecting his new G-2 to follow.

It might have been Hawaii, but Sturgis shivered at the icy vibes as he moved into the office, wondering if he would be invited to sit.

"Twenty Nine Palms, I see.  With TAD to the Sixth Fleet this past spring but no ground duty in Afghanistan."

It was an accusation of sorts, Sturgis thought, now knowing that he would be standing at attention during the entire interview.  "No, sir.  I had requested a billet with an MEU but there were no current openings.  My detailer said there's a rumor running around that Third Marine is slated for deployment to Afghanistan by February 1."  That tidbit was one the Commandant suggested via an e-mail from Admiral Chegwidden as a test of the waters.

"Really?  I hadn't heard that.  Of course, I'd be surprised if they would let you go."

Sturgis blinked.  No one had predicted that blatant a challenge.  "How so, sir?"

Eugene Waters shrugged and looked away from his new staff member.  "I just don't think it's appropriate for us to be pitting practicing Muslims against other Muslims."

It was almost enough to cover the xenophobia, Sturgis mused, but for one flaw.  "So if we were to go to war against Mexico, no Christians should be sent out because you shouldn't pit Christian against Christian, sir?"

"Um…"  Waters squirmed and refused to look back at the man standing across the desk.  "How are you settling in to quarters, Major?" he asked instead.

"Sir, just fine, sir."  _Two can play at this game,_ Turner thought.

"And your wife?"

"Sir, enjoying the weather, sir."

Now Waters did turn back to make eye contact with Sturgis.  "Even under that god-awful black shroud I'm sure you make her wear as a faithful Muslim?"

"Sir, with due respect, I cannot make my wife do anything she doesn't want to do.  She chooses, rather against my wishes, to wear a headscarf rather than a burqha, just as the women in her home region in Bahrain do.  I would prefer that she assimilate a little more, wear the scarf only on Fridays and during Ramadan, for example.  And that makes me no less a faithful Muslim than any woman who is a minister is a faithful Christian, despite some teachings to the contrary."  _Thanks, Dad, for that line._

"Well, I don't believe women should be ministers, personally."

Sturgis blinked again but said nothing; Chaplain Turner hadn't been willing to place a bet either way on the Marine Colonel's views on that issue.

Waters continued.  "Let me be very clear about something, Major Yassin.  I do not allow religious practice to interfere with the good order and discipline of my regiment.  What you do on your time is your business, but on my time, you will be available for duty without interruption.  We have working staff lunches around here and rotate the duty such that everyone has two weekends off each month.  There will be no swapping of duty shifts.  Fridays are a regular workday.  I'll expect you and your wife tonight at the Officer's Club for our regular weekly social, 1730."  He went on for quite a while about the ins and outs of the base and his expectations, which seemed to Sturgis somewhat outlandish even for a Marine.  Finally the colonel wound down.  "Your yeoman will explain the nuts and bolts of your department to you.  Any questions?"

_Lots_, he thought.  "Sir, no, sir."  _Just dismiss me already so I can sit down!_  He'd been standing at attention for 30 minutes.

Waters looked him over one more time with a hint of disdain, then punched his intercom and ordered Staff Sergeant Monroe to find the Intelligence Department yeoman.  "You are dismissed, Major.  I will see you at lunch; the menu is ham and cheese sandwiches."

From the look on the colonel's face, Sturgis knew that the menu was a deliberate slap, delivered with the expectation that he would break his fast.  He decided to be blunt about it.  "I'll gladly join you for lunch, Colonel Waters, sir, but this is the month of Ramadan and I am fasting during daylight hours.  And even if I were not, I'm afraid I couldn't eat the ham."

That earned him a long glower, but any direct reply the base commander might have made got lost when Sturgis' yeoman was announced.  "Go, Major Yassin.  I will see you at lunch."

A few minutes later in the sanctity of his new office suite, Sturgis looked at his yeoman with a smile.  "Staff Sergeant Harris, thank you for rescuing me," he said, extending his hand to the enlisted man.  He hoped he had guessed right that the young man was one of Waters' targets; despite the generic last name he looked like he might be of Hispanic heritage.

"You're very welcome, sir," the sergeant replied, taking the offered hand and reading his new department head's face accurately.  "I'm talking out of school, sir, but you've probably already noticed that the colonel is somewhat biased against people who aren't like him."

"Blonde and blue-eyed?"

That evoked a crooked smile.  "Just all-American.  He doesn't like you if your ancestors arrived after 1900 or if they came from somewhere other than northern Europe."

Sturgis was liking the enlisted man immensely.  "And yours?"

"My mother arrived from Honduras in 1975, sir, and she married my father a year later.  I was a honeymoon baby."  Harris laughed, relaxing a bit as he sensed that Major Yassin wouldn't bite his head off for doing so.  "My father's mother came from Guatemala with my grandfather, who was the son of a Guatemalan maid and an Irish diplomat."

"I take it you're Roman Catholic."

"Right down to my St. Christopher medal, sir.  And that's almost as offensive to the colonel as being Hispanic.  It wouldn't surprise me to find out that he belonged to the KKK, sir."

There would be time for a more in-depth conversation with the sergeant later; for now, Sturgis filed the young man's observation away and asked him for a quick refresher on the PBX phone system, which was slightly different from that at JAG HQ.

After another hour, he felt settled in enough to call his partner from his private office.  "'zaki, it's Ibrahim.  What are you doing now?"  That was their code to let the other know the originating end was secure.

Still in her thick accent, Mac replied in the similar receiving end code.  "Not much."  She added, "Wishing we had no neighbors so I could lay out in the beautiful sun without causing any man to lust."

Sturgis stifled a laugh; that wish was most definitely for Harm's benefit the next day.  "Hmm…I'll think about the tan.  I've met Colonel Waters."  He thought fast and prayed that Mac would pick up on his next statement.  "I don't know if he's from Idaho or Alabama, but he's certainly opinionated."

"Maybe I can find out.  It shouldn't be too hard to find out if he has a year's worth of rations and ammunition or a whole lot of extra sheets hanging around."  

Oh, yeah.  She got it and would add that to her research.  "We have a dinner obligation this evening at the Officer's Club.  There's a weekly social obligation, it seems."

"As long as we won't eat until after about 1810, that's fine.  Remember the Imam said it takes only about 20 minutes after sunset here to be dark enough to not know the color of a thread."

Bless Mac for knowing all kinds of trivia; the Imam had been greatly impressed that first evening with her answer to his question about the traditional way of telling when the fast began and ended each day.  "I'm sure there will be at least half an hour of cocktails before we even sit down to order."

"Ibrahim, what shall I wear?"

"A burqha," he answered, knowing that she wouldn't think that funny.  The derisive grunt he heard from a mile away confirmed his thought.  "What about that green velvet…"

"That one," she said.  Sturgis hadn't needed to finish the sentence; Harm had made her model her wardrobe and helped her pack, then proceeded to tell Sturgis how much he hated the things that were most appropriate for the assignment.  The two-piece had taken particular abuse because the full skirt was too long, the sleeves too loose, and the neckline too high.  Which was precisely why she had purchased it several years ago in a fit of pique with the male of the species.  "Okay, that will work."  

"You know I always want you to be stylish.  Wear the hat, not a scarf.  I'll be home at 1645.  We will probably leave for the airport right from the O-Club, so you might want to pack traveling clothes."

Obviously, Mac hadn't thought of that.  "Okay.  I have to be at NCIS Pearl in thirty minutes for orientation.  I will see you at 1645, Ibrahim."

=====

1915 Zulu/1415 Local  
JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, Virginia

"I'm a little disappointed, sir, to be honest," Harm said, sitting at ease in the chair closest to Admiral Chegwidden's desk.  "I was looking forward to a trial."

"You'll have another chance, Commander.  In the mean time, I have another assignment for you.  You'll be meeting your contact in San Diego tomorrow for an undercover operation."

"San Diego?"  Disappointment raised his voice a half-octave.

"Yes, Commander, San Diego.  And I can't tell you who your contact is because that part of the case is being handled by another department at the Pentagon.  Nor can I tell you anything more about the arrangements.  But you were requested by name, if it makes you feel any better."  AJ worked hard to control the smile that wanted to erupt on his face.  He felt like a matchmaker arranging a blind date; it was kind of heady, actually.  Especially since Mac and Trish Burnett were in on it, at least in part.

_Great,_ Harm thought, _a joint-service investigation.  I want to go to Hawaii._  "When do I leave, sir?"

"Tiner has your travel information.  Take civvies and a couple of uniforms; you'll probably be provided with appropriate clothing once you're fully briefed."

Harm sighed.  "Will I be in southern California, sir?"

"It's safe to say that if you pack for that weather, you'll be fine.  I honestly don't know exactly where you'll be."  That was true; he didn't have the GPS coordinates for the headquarters of Third Marine Regiment, after all.


	7. VII

_Disclaimers in part I._

0340 Zulu/1740 Local  
Officer's Club, Marine Corps Base Hawaii

Mac, Sturgis noted with pleasure, was a big hit among the wives of the regimental command staff.  The women were gathered in a corner of the bar chatting, listening to "Azaki" spin tales of her life in Bahrain as a young girl.  He would have bet good money that she was actually telling her grandmother's life story.

He, on the other hand, had made at least two more enemies at lunch.  The deputy Operations officer, a captain who had been wounded as a corporal during the Persian Gulf War and gone on to college through ROTC after making it to the enlisted rate of sergeant, had made an off-color remark about the name Ibrahim insinuating that anyone who shared a name of any spelling with the 16th President of the United States was someone to distrust.  He had made the comment to a lieutenant on the procurement and planning staff.  The lieutenant had laughed and told a joke about a Catholic, a Jew, and a Muslim in which none of the three came off well.  Sturgis had taken it upon himself to declare the statements offensive and unbecoming to officers, then made the gathering all the more difficult when he stuck to his professed beliefs and didn't eat.

In the plus column, that prompted the only other Muslim in the group to thank him profusely afterward for having the courage that comes with higher rank.  "I have to tell you, sir, it was only because of Colonel Richards that I could stand Colonel Water's scrutiny, and I was worried that after he left last week I'd cave," young First Lieutenant Samir had said.  "I even went to the Imam when I heard the colonel was leaving to report Colonel Waters.  Major Yassin, sir, you've really done a good deed today."

Even tonight at the O-Club, a current of inappropriate language and humor ran under some of the byplay, and not just from the Colonel and the two other offenders.  What Sturgis couldn't understand was why anyone put up with it.  Admiral Chegwidden, and all the other CO's he'd ever had, would have quashed that kind of language without a second thought and probably written up official complaints for the service records of the offenders, as well.  Even when the chief wrongdoer was the commanding officer, there was a hotline for this kind of thing – but the only complaints had been registered through the Chaplains' Office – not even the regimental chaplain, at that – and those, with the exception of Lt. Samir's, unofficially.  There was more going on here than just the evident behavior; these men – and they were all men, interestingly enough – were all highly trained combat soldiers but they were afraid of their commanding officer, especially without an executive officer to shield them from the worst of it.  He and Mac would have a long talk at the airport before she flew off to brief Harm.

Colonel Waters chose that moment to arrive, late due to an unexpected staff call at PACFLT HQ.  At the same time, the women around Mac changed their arrangement to allow for those who had been standing to sit and vice versa.  Thus, the first person the regimental commander saw was a woman who would have taken any man's breath away.

It was funny to watch from Sturgis' point of view until he remembered that he was supposed to be acting as Harm would act in similar situations.  Sturgis begged out of a conversation with two junior officers to move toward the woman everyone knew as his wife.  He was just in time to see the colonel paste a smile that might have been a "flyboy" grin on his face; the JAG officer steeled his face not to crack into a big grin when Mac answered in her thick Farsi accent, knowing that Waters would be thrown off by that.

The colonel moved in slow motion toward Mac, straightening his uniform jacket and thinking that perhaps he could have a moment to introduce himself quietly, like many other men over time who had found the Marine Lieutenant Colonel enchanting.  "Santa came to Hawaii early this year, I see," Waters said, sliding the last few feet to stand just within Mac's personal space.

"And he came from BUPERS, not the North Pole, bearing the gift of an intelligence officer for you."  Mac leaned away a fraction, noticeable more in the set of her shoulders and head than anything else.

He puzzled that through.  "Oh, ah…Mrs. Yassin.  I expected you to be…"  Colonel Waters wasn't really sure if he should say what he expected; the wives were close enough that he didn't want to say something that would get back to an ambitious husband.  He didn't know the major was now standing behind him.

Mac smiled at him, knowing that only Sturgis would see the steel in her gleam.  "Dressed differently, perhaps?"

"Yes," the colonel accepted.  Damn, she might be a foreigner and a security threat, but she was fine looking.  It somehow wasn't fair that Yassin got her and he got…other men's disregarded wives to play with for a while before the men decided to reclaim them.  Maybe Yassin was ignoring his wife, too.

The undercover officer smoothed the dark emerald velvet of her dress and played with the long netting of the veil on her matching hat.  "You know, Colonel, assumptions are dangerous."  The gold band on her left hand gleamed in the recessed lighting of the bar; she covered it as she waited for the man to make the next move.  Somehow, it seemed right to give off the "I might be interested" vibes.

_Score!_ the colonel thought.  "Let me buy you a drink, Mrs. Yassin."  He gestured at the empty place in front of her.  "Draft Sam Adams, please," he added to the bartender.

"I'll accept that offer in about…" she looked at her watch, "…twenty minutes.  Dr. Pepper, and please, it's Azaki."  She extended her hand.

"Azaki it is."  He turned the offered hand into an excuse to kiss her wrist.  "Why twenty minutes?" he asked with feigned interest, mostly to prolong the encounter.

Azaki Yassin smiled at him; there was nothing feigned in his obvious attraction to her.  "The fast will be over for the day."

With the smile belonging to Major Yassin's wife, the man would be doing a lot of night drills and duty.  "You're sure I can't get you something stronger in twenty minutes?"  Waters took out his wallet and extracted three singles, setting them on the bar beside her.

"No, thank you," Mac replied, looking up to meet Sturgis' eyes.  "Dr. Pepper will be fine."

Sturgis accepted his cue, stepping up to stand beside her barstool .  "Good evening, Colonel Waters.  I see you've met my beautiful wife."  He leaned in to kiss Mac lightly and slipped his arm around her possessively.

The bartender set the beer on the bar top as the colonel replied.  "Yes, Major, I have.  I owe you a soda, Azaki.  Excuse me, major, ma'am."  He nodded to the couple and took his beer off to greet some of the other women.

Mac nodded toward the women with whom the Colonel now stood and murmured her observations to Sturgis.  "They are terrified of him.  It's like there's a force field around him that repels them."

"What makes women do that?" he murmured back against her hair.

"Experience and bad vibes," Mac answered with a grimace and a shudder, knowing that Sturgis would understand only part of that reaction; with the vague outline of a plan forming in her mind, she also hoped that anyone who saw her shudder would wonder why a married woman would make such motions in her husband's arms.

"He strikes me as the tyrannical type who expects his power to be alluring."  He started when she wriggled as though trying to escape him, but read in her eyes that she had a reason that she couldn't explain in the circumstances.  So he tightened his embrace a fraction.

"He's a snake oil salesman," she hissed back with a wink dropped at him when no one was watching.  Then she pushed away from him and asked with a raised voice, "How long do we have to endure this?"

Too long was their mutual answer nearly three hours later as they watched his new colleagues stagger out to the parking lot in various states of inebriation.  The women, they noted, had not consumed nearly as much alcohol as the men, probably in anticipation of this exact occurrence.

"By the way, 'zaki, what did you tell the colonel when he kept pressing a drink on you?" Sturgis asked, maintaining the pretense of trouble between them in the acid tone of his voice.

Mac answered in a near shout.  "That we're trying to have the baby you keep telling me it's my duty to give you!"

"I'll bet that went over well, given the way he leered at you all night."  He added venom to his tone, escalating the fight.

"He did not leer at me!  You told me I should wear the hat instead of the scarf and you picked out this dress!  Don't blame me when your attempts to help us fit in better go wrong."  She started to walk away from him.

He grabbed her arm, lightly so he wouldn't hurt her for real but with enough momentum to spin her around.  "You know, until you figure out that you can dress normally everyday, you're always going to go overboard on special occasions.  You flirted with my commanding officer shamelessly and frankly, I'm glad you won't be around the next two days so I don't have to worry about you getting any other ideas."

Colonel Waters overheard the whole thing through his alcohol-induced haze as he walked the short distance from the Officer's Club to his quarters, a house really much too big for an officer who had never married.  Perhaps Mrs. Yassin would be no different than a dozen other officers' wives, Navy, Marine, Army, and Air Force, who had been impressed enough with it to meet the physical requirements of a relationship in the past year when the major's wife returned from wherever it was she was going.

=====

0700 Zulu/0200 Local  
Harm's Apartment, North of Union Station, Washington, DC – 3 December 2002

Ordinarily, Harm had no trouble falling asleep.  Sometimes he had trouble staying asleep, when the worst of his nightmares came and woke him, but falling asleep was rarely a problem.  Tonight, though…

It was Mac's fault, he decided.  "Damn her for not calling," he growled, pouncing out of bed to get a glass of warm milk in hopes that its soothing qualities would allow him at least three and a half hours of sleep before he had to be up and getting ready for his thankfully non-stop flight to San Diego out of Dulles at 8:35.  "And damn the admiral for sending me somewhere other than to her."

Thinking of San Diego, he remembered that he had wanted to arrange a visit to La Jolla for New Years to take Mac out to meet his mother and Frank.  Amazing that somehow they had never met in person, although he knew that the two most important women in his life had talked on the phone a number of times over the years.  He heard his mother in his head, asking her favorite question since the first time he'd mentioned the Marine in casual conversation.  "Harm, sweetheart, do you love Mac?"

He answered the voice out loud, something he'd never done on the phone to Trish Burnett, or, for that matter, in so many words to Mac or anyone else.  "Yes, Mom, I do.  I love Sarah more than any human being ought to love another human being."  Harm heard himself put voice to the deepest feelings he had ever had and realized that the truth would comfort him far more than warm milk.  With a long sigh, he fell back into bed, clutching a pillow close to him and breathing the most precious words in a mantra that lulled him into dreamless slumber.  "I love you, Sarah Mackenzie.  I love you."

=====

1845 Zulu/1045 Local/1345 EST  
San Diego International Airport, San Diego, California

Mac felt much more normal than she had in five days as she dialed a familiar number into her cell phone and waited for someone to answer.  Once again, the world could see her as Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie, USMC, and even if the respite were brief, it was nice to be herself again.

"JAG Headquarters, Petty Officer Tiner," the young man's voice answered on the fourth ring.

"Good morning, Tiner.  It's Colonel Mackenzie.  May I speak with the Admiral, please?"

"Yes, ma'am.  Just a moment."

Mac waited exactly 13 seconds before the audible click of a phone line being taken off hold let her know her commanding officer was on the line.  "Good morning, Colonel."

"Good morning, sir.  Just checking in as ordered."

"You've read the file?"

"Yes, sir.  I have to say, what Harriet was able to pull together was really quite interesting to read.  This Lieutenant Colonel Rutter certainly has seen his fair share of action."  Then she laughed, because more than half of what was in Harm's undercover identity's file had been only slightly amended from their case files.

In Falls Church, Admiral Chegwidden knew the cause of her hilarity.  "Hasn't he, though," he agreed dryly.  He had personally suggested three of the episodes just to remind his senior investigators that he had a long memory and a tolerant disposition; his own personal favorite was the twist on the Watertown episode.  "Tell me about Eugene Waters," he commanded.

"Sir, if we can't get him on discrimination, we can get him on conduct unbecoming and adultery."

"Really?  With whom?"  That hadn't come up in anything the Commandant or Colonel Richards had relayed.

"Me, sir, if he had his way."  She told him about her new plans based on Colonel Waters' reaction to her.  Then she added her own womanly instincts.  "I suspect, sir, that there are probably a number of wives who are or have been in Hawaii recently who could give a detailed description of his quarters.  And maybe not just Navy and Marine wives, either.  He's got contacts all over the Honolulu area and probably frequents the O Clubs at Hickam and Pearl, too."

The admiral considered this for 9 seconds before he spoke.  "Mac, where's a logical place for Rutter and Yassin to have crossed paths stateside?"  He obviously trusted the lieutenant colonel to know her cover story as well as she knew her own true biography.

Mac chewed her lip for a moment, thinking through the billets to which Ibrahim and Azizah Akilah Yassin had been assigned during their seven-year marriage.  "Well, sir, Rutter's last assignment was as S–2 of the 15th Marine Expeditionary Unit.  I suppose they could have met during a combat command intelligence course at Dam Neck while Ibrahim was on staff there," she said, referring to the Navy and Marine Corps Intelligence Training Center (NMITC) in Dam Neck, Virginia.  "It would be logical for someone of Rutter's background to have gone to school just before his posting."

"And the timing fits, just about three years ago.  Okay, Colonel, adjust the cover file and I'll make the call to NMITC from here.  You'd better give Commander Turner the heads up before you and Commander Rabb leave for Hawaii."

"Um, sir, if I may, what are you suggesting?"  She really didn't think AJ would go where he appeared to be leading, but he did.

"That you and Lieutenant Rutter had a short, torrid affair three years ago and that there's still a flame flickering."

Mac let out an audible gasp.  "Why, sir?"

"Because if I'm reading Waters correctly, competition – or perceived competition – will make him move all the faster.  And Rabb just might be able to nudge the colonel into moving on other fronts if he thinks he can eliminate one threat and throw suspicion on another in one fell swoop."

"Dear God, sir!"  She shook her head to clear the thoughts that ran through her mind:  Sturgis and Harm having to fight it out, one killing the other in the name of justice, her watching helplessly…

"Mac, I promise that nothing will go that far.  We just need to get the man with his hand in some cookie jar, and at this point, I don't particularly care which one."

He'd regret that statement later in the month.

=====

1905 Zulu/1105 PST/1205 Local  
Over Colorado, Continental United States

Commander Harmon Rabb was one unhappy sailor.  It was bad enough that he was going to San Diego rather than Hawaii, where he could look after Mac.  But to have had his non-stop flight push back from the gate on time, then sit on the tarmac at Dulles for almost 90 minutes before rolling into the takeoff line was torturous.  It left him too much time to brood, and he couldn't even pull out his cell phone and talk to Mac in the mean time.  His options were to look out the window at the mountains – which, he had to admit, were pretty with the recent Thanksgiving snowfall glinting off the tall peaks – or to try to escape into a Tom Clancy novel featuring Jack Ryan and friends.

He opted for the novel, and marveled yet again that he'd never actually read anything other than The Hunt for Red October until Mac had goaded him into replacing the book he so cleverly tore in half back in…was that just August?  It seemed longer ago than that, the sub and the missile and Bud's accident.  Since then, he'd read through the series, starting at Mac's suggestion with the newest, a prequel to Patriot Games called Red Rabbit, and working his way through Patriot Games, a reread of Red October, The Cardinal of the Kremlin, and Clear and Present Danger.  He was currently halfway through The Sum of All Fears and he was glad that he'd only seen the first movie of the four made.  The movies, he was sure, contained less than half the actual story simply because putting 600+ pages on screen didn't usually work very well.

At least, he realized an hour later as the pilot announced the beginning of their descent, Clancy had indeed distracted him.  He kept reading, finishing up with Cathy Ryan's vow to make whomever had set up her husband pay for their malfeasance just as the nose wheel settled on the ground in San Diego.  Mac would – had – done that for him.  Of course, he mused as he slid the book into the briefcase at his feet, Mac was much more like Domingo Chavez than Caroline Ryan, M.D., in her skills.  Ninja and all that stuff.

Twenty minutes later he stood in the concourse, wondering if he should be looking for a sign or something bearing his name.  Then he grunted with the realization that no one would be able to get past security, so he might as well go on out to the main terminal.  Harm pulled out the handle on his small rolling suitcase and picked up his briefcase for the trek.  Mindlessly, he trudged up the ramp and past the busy TSA agents who couldn't pay attention to deplaning passengers as well as embarking passengers.  He looked up and glanced around.

Mac just stood and waited for him to notice her, leaning casually against a pillar near the escalators to baggage claim.  She watched him scan the crowd, saw the amazing change in his face when he locked onto her gaze.  She didn't even have time to move; she was in his arms, uniform or no, before she could think beyond, _he's here!_

"Mac!" he whispered against her hair, wondering if he were having a dream.

"Harm," she smiled back, trailing a finger down his cheek.  "I guess you missed me."

He threw back his head and laughed, pulling her more tightly against him.  It wasn't a dream.  "I did, and I really don't care that I'm making a spectacle of us right at the moment."  They were both in uniform, after all, and his summer whites – still an option for this part of the country, thankfully – didn't exactly give him the kind of subdued presence that her Marine green did.

"Well, I don't either, but we don't have much time."

He pulled back to look at her but left his arms loosely around her.  "I know.  I'm just glad you managed to get here to see me, however briefly.  I was really hoping to get to Hawaii to help you and Sturgis – "

"Harm," she said with a brilliant, knee-weakening, heart-flipping smile as she put a finger to his lips, "you are going to Hawaii."

Confusion settled in his gaze.  "I'm supposed to be meeting someone here for a joint service undercover operation…"

"That was the admiral's idea of a joke.  I have everything you need to know and we have a private location at which to prepare you for your assignment."

"Oh."  He smiled down at her.  "How private?"

"I'm not sure.  I just got in two hours and seventeen minutes ago and I've been waiting for you ever since."  That wasn't quite true; she'd noticed the address and played a hunch, discovering in the process that Admiral Chegwidden really did have quite a sense of humor.  "And you have a report date of 5 December for your assignment, so we'd better get a move on.  Any checked luggage?"

"Just what you see here."

"Then let's go."  She had already gotten the rental car in her name, meaning that Harm wouldn't be able to drive it for the duration; he didn't object to it, strangely, and she commented on that as she pointed the convertible north toward their destination.

"I can't drive and look at you at the same time," he said, giving her a Flyboy smile as his hair ruffled in the wind.  He had taken one look at the lowered roof and tossed his white cover into the trunk.

"Does that mean I'll be stuck doing all the driving for the rest of our lives?" she shot back, glad she'd remembered to tuck a Third Marine Regiment ball cap into her luggage, even if it wasn't the regulation cover for her current uniform.

"Nope," he replied.  He stretched his arm across the seat to rest it behind her head.  "Just when it's been…"

She smiled, knowing he was doing complicated math in his head that she could just toss into the conversation on a whim.

"One hundred one hours and 50 minutes since I last saw you."

"Close, Flyboy.  You forgot the time zone change.  One hundred four hours and 53 minutes."

"And the last three hours and three minutes were the worst."  You just couldn't deflate an ecstatic Harmon Rabb, Jr.


	8. VIII

_Disclaimers in part I._

2135 Zulu/1135 Local  
Headquarters, Third Marine Regiment, Marine Corps Base Hawaii

Sturgis thanked God profusely that he had been in theater earlier in the year when he discovered that his first official analysis was due on Colonel Waters' desk at noon on his second day in the job.  True to his word, the Commandant of the Marine Corps had issued a movement alert for Third Regiment; he had also made sure to include every piece of data he could find related to ongoing _al-Qaeda_ activity as well as a historical précis of the past year.  Sturgis knew much more than a regimental intelligence officer ought to about a certain dirty nuke fired off an Iranian submarine; thankfully, the media hadn't gotten to interview any of the officers involved or none of them would be here doing this job right now.  He knew very little, however, about the way that a Marine Regiment needed to process intelligence; his ace in the hole was currently an ace for someone else in La Jolla, California.

Time to put his innate teaching skills to work.  He called the three other officers and six most senior enlisted men – and that they were all men disturbed him greatly, but he could do nothing about that – into the conference area and explained to them that he wanted to see just how good they were.  "Show me your stuff, men."

Sturgis was a quick learner as well as a superb teacher.  What he contributed to the others' base knowledge of strategy, learned over seven years at a sonar console near the end of the Cold War and honed by four years of courtroom experience, he got back fourfold in tactical knowledge from his staff in the next 45 minutes.  He violated the prime directive of lawyering to do so:  never ask a question to which you don't already know the answer.  But he was ready at the end of their session to do the briefing at lunch.  He hoped.

"Major Yassin, you are late," Colonel Waters announced when Sturgis entered the main conference room to see all the other staff gathered.

"Sir, I apologize; our departmental clock must be a minute slow."  He was actually still two minutes early.

"No excuses, Yassin.  Fix it."  No one moved at the commanding officer's arctic tone.

"Aye, sir."  He sat down and waited for the official meeting to begin.  First, however, he had to suffer through ten minutes of tasteless jokes and banter about the country in and people of which they would soon be deployed that he recorded duly in his head for later dictation.  When the "entertainment" was over, the colonel gave him the floor.  "We will apparently be going in to the Kandahar region to deal with possible incursions from Pakistan in the event of an all-out war with Iraq."  Sturgis went on for ten minutes, summarizing the most harrowing 37 hours of his life in two brief sentences along the way as he laid out the current strategic and tactical situation in their soon-to-be territory of responsibility.

To his staff went the credit that not even Colonel Waters could find anything wrong with the brief; Sturgis relaxed a little and listened to similar briefings from the other department heads as the afternoon wore on.

"Okay, people," Colonel Waters said at long last.  "Along with this news came a heads up that we'll have a new XO reporting in sometime on Thursday.  I don't have any information on him yet, so don't ask.  We will have another all-staff meet and greet that night at the O-Club at which you are all expected.  Major Yassin, stay, the rest of you are dismissed."

The men rose together and replied, "Aye, sir!"

Waters didn't even wait for the others to leave before he pounced on the new intelligence officer.  "I understand that Thursday is some kind of holiday for you people."

Sturgis blanched, not anticipating the personal attack.  "Yes, sir, it is," he acknowledged after a moment.  "It's the end of Ramadan, starting at sundown and going on through Friday."

"There's a big party involved?"

"Usually, sir."

Waters smiled with a hint of malice.  "I guess you'll be missing the party, then, between the all-call meet and greet and the overnight watch."

"Sir?"  He wasn't on the schedule until Friday night.

The commanding officer shrugged, reading his mind.  "I changed my mind and the schedule.  You and Captain Goldstein have been switched."

_Blatant religious persecution, Colonel?  Just how many of us do you think you have cowed?_  "Sir, Captain Goldstein has children who will be celebrating the last night of Hanukkah on Friday.  I don't care about my own observance so much, but switch the captain back to Saturday night, please sir."

"Major, are you questioning my judgment?  I am not in the habit of making allowances for religious celebrations because war doesn't make such allowances."

"Who has the duty on 24 and 25 December, sir?"

"Captain Rodriguez on Christmas Eve and Captain Jimenez on Christmas Day."

Sturgis struggled to keep his displeasure from showing.  Both men were Roman Catholics and each had large families; moreover, Rodriguez was a first generation Mexican-American who, Sturgis had discovered in casual conversation, was working with the chaplains office to set up traditional _posadas_ for the Pearl Harbor/MCBH community and who had thrown himself into the planning of the midnight mass with the lay team leaders.  Jimenez had requested leave a long time ago, Sturgis knew, and been denied "because too many people are already out" – except that a half hours' worth of discreet questioning of two people had provided proof that Jimenez was actually the first to submit his leave request form.  All this offended the naval officer, whose request for leave that for that week had been approved without question on his first day on staff.

"I don't hear you stepping up to take duty for either of them, Major," Waters taunted.

"No, sir, as you know, I have a family obligation on the mainland during that week."

"It wouldn't do you any good anyway.  By the way, you're expected at morning PT at 0615 with Third Battalion.  You're dismissed."

Commander Turner mused on his was back to his own office.  _War doesn't make allowances for religious celebrations._  Damn.  The colonel even had a reasonable explanation for his behavior.

Something else struck him as he settled in to close up for the day.  What if Waters was already planning to make a move on Mac?  And how would Harm react to that on his first day undercover?

=====

0200 Zulu/1800 Local  
Frank and Trish Burnett's Home, La Jolla, California

"Harm!  Mac!  Dinner's ready," the lady of the house called to the two officers who had occupied the table on her deck since just after 2 p.m., working past sun down in the cooling sea air thanks to the bright lights so necessary for late night entertaining in the summer.

"Thanks, Mom.  We'll be in in a minute."  Harm didn't even need to raise his voice to be heard.

Patricia Rabb Burnett watched her son and the woman she hoped would soon be her daughter-in-law as they packed up their materials, working in quiet harmony and seeming to her as though they were one person with four hands instead of two individuals with two very different hearts and minds.  AJ Chegwidden's phone call on Sunday afternoon had been about exactly that.  _I want them to have a chance, Trish_, the admiral had said.  _If ever two people needed each other to survive, it's your son and Sarah Mackenzie._  And even had Harm not telegraphed that in every phone call – unspoken but obvious to a loving mother – the moment the two lawyers appeared on the front porch, laughing, windblown, and holding hands without even realizing it, Trish would have known that Sarah Mackenzie is the oxygen her son needs to live.

"It smells heavenly, Trish," Mac commented as she walked under Harm's arm through the sliding screen door.

"Thank you, dear," she replied.  "It's stuffed peppers."

Harm made a face and started to remark, but Trish cut him off.  "Don't worry, sweetheart, there are two with no beef."

That brought a relaxed smile to the face that was so like his father's as he reached out to pull Trish into a hug.  "Thanks, Mom."

"You're welcome, honey."

Mac burst into giggles and Harm tightened his hold on his mother.

"What?"

"It's a long story, Trish.  We'll tell you someday, I promise," Mac assured her through her laughter.

A deep male voice interrupted the scene.  "You must be Sarah, and I hope whatever it is, you'll tell me, too."

Mac looked up at Harm's stepfather and decided that she liked him immensely just because of the smile that lit his face as he surveyed the scene in his kitchen.  "Yes, Mr. Burnett," said she in answer to both questions.

Frank raised his eyebrow at her, then turned to look at Trish in her son's arms.  He winked at the two.  "We have two traditions in this house.  One is that we use first names or relationships, not titles – so no more Mr. Burnett.  And the second is that we like to welcome our special guests with hugs if that's permitted."  His voice dropped a little bit at the end, as though he weren't quite sure what reaction he would receive from the beautiful Marine who had captured his stepson's heart so thoroughly.

Mac took the two steps necessary to close the distance between herself and Frank, opening her arms to him.  "Yes, Frank," she amended.

He enveloped her briefly, placing a kiss on her cheek before he leaned down to whisper, "Thank you, Sarah," in her ear.  "You're the one who fixed Harm and me."

"You're welcome," she whispered back before he let her go.

"Harm, I don't suppose you'd let your mother go so I can say hello, would you?"

Harm looked down at his mother.  "Oh, I suppose," he complied with a smile, expecting Frank to take her.  Instead, Frank reached out to shake his hand.

"I say hello to her everyday," Frank explained at the confused look on Harm's face.  "You, not so often and certainly not often enough."

"We'll work on that, Frank.  And maybe you could come to D.C. more often, too – when I'm in town,"  Mac pleaded.

With that, the four laughed and set about the business of putting dinner on the table.  Trish Burnett was a good cook; the quiet meal moved swiftly to a talkative dessert before Mac realized that she and Harm needed to get back to work.  She pulled him to his feet and dragged him back to the deck, retrieving her briefcase from the stand near the sliding door on the way.

"Mac," Harm whined as she pushed him lightly into a chair at the table, "Can't we just start fresh tomorrow?"

She thought about it for seven seconds.  "Tell me everything you remember and then I'll decide if it's enough for the day."  She had already decided to make it short; better still if he could recite it now without review.

Harm nodded his acceptance of her deal.  "Lieutenant Michael James Rutter, United States Marine Corps."  He went on, giving his new social security number, his date and place of birth, and his parents' names.  "University of Minnesota ROTC, 1989; completed Officer's Basic Course September 1989, the Military Police Academy in June 1990, and deployed immediately to the security detail at King Khalid Military City in Saudi Arabia.  During Desert Storm, I was assigned to a front line unit as POW processing officer, serving in that position at ground command headquarters, as well, from the conclusion of hostilities until all POWs were fully repatriated in April 1991.  I returned to KKMC and remained until the end of August, 1992.  As a captain, I completed Instructors School and taught for 2 years on staff at the Military Police Academy, then proceeded to a two-year deployment with the 22nd Marine Expeditionary Unit, Special Operations Capable, during which I commanded a company of Marines charged with the security of the U.S. Embassy in Monrovia, Liberia during the war.  Returning stateside in early 1997, I received my majority.  My first O-4 billet was as Operations officer for the 7th Fleet Security and Weapons Control Detachment in Yokosuka, Japan, an 18-month assignment that I voluntarily extended six months due to the death of my replacement prior to his arrival.  At the end of that tour in March 1999, I went to NMITC at Dam Neck for the Intelligence Command School.  One of my instructors was Captain Ibrahim Yassin.  I went from school to serve as a staff Intelligence Officer for the 15th Marine Expeditionary Unit at Camp Pendleton, California.  I spent 11 months in Afghanistan from October 2001-September 2002 with the 15th, where I helped with the CIA investigation into stolen nuclear materials and helped to hunt Kabir before the unit rotated stateside.  I was frocked as a Lieutenant Colonel effective 5 December 2002 and assigned without notice to Third Marine Regiment, MCB Hawaii, as Executive Officer.  I am not married, nor have I ever been, and I have no children.  I have outstanding fitreps but several of my previous commanding officers have noted their concerns about certain attitudes I have occasionally expressed, particularly during my overseas assignments in Saudi Arabia and Japan."

"Hobbies?"

"I enjoy open mike nights at clubs near the bases I've been assigned to and am known as a reasonably talented country western singer and guitarist."  He glared at her.  "You put that in, didn't you?"

Mac raised her hand as if taking an oath.  "Harm, honestly, I despise most country music.  I only listen to it to annoy you."  Which was true; the reason her stereo at the office sat behind her desk was so she could switch stations and modes quickly if she heard him coming.  "But given how much you complain about my choice of music publicly, it's a good bet Admiral Chegwidden is behind it."

Still dubious, he nodded hesitantly, hoping that he wouldn't have to show that talent for the duration.

She read his worry.  "Relax.  As long as you know Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer, you're fine through Christmas."

"What?"  Harm sat up in his chair, not sure he'd heard his partner correctly.

Mac's eyebrows met in the center of her forehead when she narrowed her eyes at him.  "You know, Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer*, the country hit of Christmas."  At his continuing blank stare, she groaned and began to sing the chorus in her somewhat shaky alto.  'Grandma got run over by a reindeer, coming home from our house Christmas Eve.  You may think there's no such thing as Santa, but as for me and Grandpa, we believe.'" 

Harm literally fell out of his chair laughing, making enough noise to bring his mother and stepfather running to the deck as Mac continued to sing the ridiculous song.

"Harm!  Are you okay?" Trish burst out, seeing her 6'4" son sprawled on the wood planking rubbing the back of his head.

"I will be when she stops singing," he growled, but with continuing laughter.

Frank took that opportunity to join in on the last line of the second verse, and Trish sang the choruses with Mac and Frank until the song was complete, leaving a gasping Harm still on the floor in tears from laughing so hard.  

"I can't believe you've never heard that song before," his stepfather said, reaching out to help him up.

"I've lived a sheltered life," he joked, coming to his full height.  He moved behind Mac's chair and leaned over her to wrap his arms around her shoulders.  "I hate to tell you this, Colonel, but after that, there is no way I'll be able to remember anything else you try to stuff into my head tonight."

She turned her head to kiss his cheek.  "Okay, you win, Commander.  You did well, anyway.  But there will be no lounging around in bed tomorrow morning.  We're out here at work by 0800."

He returned the kiss.  "Yes, ma'am.  Anybody up for Trivial Pursuit?"

=====

0620 Zulu/2020 Local  
Officers' Quarters, Marine Corps Base Hawaii

Sturgis powered up the JAG laptop that gave him access to the intranet in Falls Church, hoping that Mac had remembered to e-mail him the file on Harm's cover identity before she and Harm stopped working for the day.  He wanted to know what role Harm would play in the investigation, of course, but more importantly he was hoping that she had thrown in some more of her "How to be a Marine" advice.  Harm would have a definite advantage there; by osmosis, he had become far more of a Marine working with Mac for six years than many of the younger officers with whom Sturgis had thus far interacted.  And, of course, there were Marines on aircraft carriers, but not on submarines, so even before Mac, Harm had been exposed to the Marine mentality.

A few minutes later, the reassuring whine of modems synching told Sturgis that he was in; sure enough, there were two e-mails from Harriet concerning Harm, three from Mac (one with a fairly large Word document attached and two with "How To" in the subject line), one from Bud seeking advice on a case, and one from the admiral requesting an update on day two.  There were also three notes from official military addresses that he didn't recognize.

He disposed of the notes from Bud and Admiral Chegwidden efficiently, then read through the two from Harriet with amusement.  Lt. Sims had a way with assembling the driest information that made it easy to read and retain – humor was an effective teaching tool, as any good pedagogue could tell you.  How else could he possibly remember that Colonel Rutter was a not an Annapolis alumnus like the man portraying him than "Michael James Rutter is a great UMINN being"?  He'd have to remember that for her next fitrep.

Moving on to Mac's notes, he read "Rutter's" file with interest, catching the supposed crossed path almost immediately.  He also devoured the personal history that Harriet, the admiral, and Mac had assembled, noting with wry interest that Azaki Yassin and then-Major Rutter had been involved in a passionate affair to which Ibrahim Yassin appeared oblivious.  And he approved of the rationale expressed for that turn of events, seeing the logic of once again goading Colonel Waters as much as possible.  Harm would be around to watch Mac's six, so there should be no additional danger as long as everyone stayed alert.

Mac's "How To" notes brought more laughter.

_Dear Alec,_ she wrote to yank his chain in the first one, _By now you've settled in and hopefully that cover sits more naturally on your head – we won't get into the wrongness of the Navy Way on that score.  If everything went as planned, you got confirmation of your ops orders for deployment today and along with it the intel for analysis.  I hope you took my advice and let your staff teach you tactics while you taught them strategy, 'fin._  She had taken of late to calling him "Dolphin" because, as she informed him, "Squid" was reserved for someone else.  _Tomorrow, you can expect to need to draft a formal written evaluation and an intelligence asset deployment plan for the field.  Hopefully, you've got advice from at least one of the -2 officers I've served with to help you out on that.  Don't worry; I told them that you're doing an investigation on a bad exercise and you need to evaluate the intel.  Call us on my cell Wednesday evening when it's safe to talk.  And when I get back, we're going to talk about the Imam's observations.  If you can babysit together, Sturgis, you belong together.  _Semper Fi, _Dolphin.  Mac._

He had wondered when Mac would go after him and Bobbi, but he set that aside to finish business.

Mac's second note was shorter and less comforting.  _Yo, Dolphin!  You'd better be ready for PT soon.  I'll bet Colonel Waters will send you out with the battalion with the best overall PFT rating in the regiment.  Don't kill yourself; remember that there are allowances made for those observing religious rituals and that is documented in your jacket, so there's nothing Waters or anyone else can do to you until Friday morning for being a less than optimum Marine officer.  And you can bet that's exactly what Waters will expect, probably fully maxed scores across the board.  Learn the obstacle course well and pray that no one else in the entire regiment swims as well as you do.  You're doing the Few proud, Sailor.  _Semper Fi._  Mac._

Just this morning at the office coffee pot, the Personnel officer had told him that his first scheduled PT was Monday with First Battalion, which was, he was told, SOP.  Then Colonel Waters dropped his little bombshell after lunch – and with a start and a little math Sturgis realized that the Eastern Standard Time sent-stamp on Mac's e-mail matched the exact moment Waters had ordered him to stay behind.  The woman was just downright spooky, something he had disbelieved firsthand during the murder investigation of a nuclear weapons expert, but had since come to understand after hearing from several different people how she had found Harm in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.

_Ooh rah, Mac,_ Sturgis wrote back, _Your psychic abilities really scare the hell out of me.  I have PT tomorrow with Third Battalion, which has the best PFT rating not only in the regiment but the entire Pacific theater, thank you very much.  You may come home to a hurting husband.  Don't let Harm see that, by the way – he'll immediately take it the wrong way.  I have duty Thursday night and there's another meet and greet for the new XO then, too.  I'm pretty sure Waters is looking to make a move on Azaki sooner rather than later; you and Harm need to figure out how she feels about her former paramour before you get here and act accordingly from the first moment.  I suppose we should also decide the relationship between Yassin and Rutter before then, too.  Were we rivals, friends, acquaintances, colleagues?  If we're sticking with the idea that Rutter is a bit of a racist, I'd go with rivals.  I'll just summon all those times I've gotten my head handed to me on a plate in the courtroom and think about one night stands.  Plan on hearing from me between 2100 and 2200 Pacific Time tomorrow.  Blue and gold rules, Mac.  Sturgis._

He sighed.  The line about one night stands could have been a low blow to Harm, but the other man had acknowledged the nature of his short-lived relationship with Congresswoman Latham long ago.  Now, Sturgis had a chance with her, one he thought was worth taking.  So before he moved on to read the notes from the men he assumed were answering Mac's plea for intel reports, he wrote a quick note to Bobbi.  It made him feel a little better, but he realized as he clicked "send" that he missed the politician a lot more than he anticipated.  _Oh, joy.  I just might be falling in love._

=====

*Words and Music by Randy Brooks; copyright 1979 by KRIS PUBLISHING, INC.


	9. IX

_Disclaimers in part I._

0740 Zulu/2340 Local  
Frank and Trish Burnett's House, La Jolla, California

"Why do I ever suggest anything competitive involving trivia when I'm with you?" Harm asked Mac after his mother and stepfather had said goodnight and retreated to the master suite.

"Because you're a masochist," she beamed back at him, holding up her completed wheel of knowledge with glee.  "And your mom's not so bad, either."

"It was a lucky guess on her part."  There was no other way to explain how his mother knew the answer to the question, "In what game will you find innings, pitches, bats, balls, and bowlers?"

Mac swatted his arm.  "That's what you get for asking a Sports and Leisure question.  Just the law of averages said she had to get two right during the game."

"Yeah, but the law of averages also says you should have missed a question or two during the game."

"You know, I gave up whine a long time ago, Harm.  You might want to think about that before you complain too much.  And for the record I missed 11 questions."

He twisted his lips and looked askance at her.  "Doesn't seem like it," he mumbled.

A few minutes later, the two stood in what had become the guest wing of the house, somewhat awkwardly trying to say goodnight.

"Okay, well, I guess just knock on my door when you're done in the head."  Harm leaned against the frame of the open door into his boyhood room, the sheepish grin on his face indicating his nervousness.

Mac smiled at him from the opposite bedroom doorway with what she hoped was more confidence than he showed.  "You sure?  You could go first – I might be a while."

She couldn't know the effect of that smile on Harm's knees – and a few other parts of his anatomy, as well.  "Why?  How could anything you do in there make you more beautiful than you already are?"

"Oh…"  The unexpected words brought her eyes to his.

"Where's the ring, Sarah?"  He thought he knew but wanted to make sure his guess was accurate.

She reached to the neck of her t-shirt, pulled out the chain with her dog tags, laid the pendants in her palm.  "As close to my heart as I can get it," she whispered, maintaining the charged eye contact.

Poise returned, Harm flashed her a Flyboy grin.  "I think I'm jealous of the ring."

"Why?"

The grin didn't waiver at all.  "Because close to your heart means close to something else, too."

Now she flushed a bright red, understanding at once.  "In that case, maybe I should have you carry mine in your front pocket…"

Harm let out a laugh and stepped toward her, opening his arms.  When she was safely wrapped in his embrace, he found the words that he'd wanted to say since they pulled up in front of the house.  "You know, Sarah, I have a double bed in my room…"

"What would your mother say?" Mac murmured against his chest.

"Mom didn't make up the bed in the guest room until I told her we'd need it.  She just assumed…"

"I love your mother, you know that?  Frank, too."  Neither Mac nor Harm realized the implications of Trish assuming the state of their relationship based on what AJ Chegwidden had said to her when he made "reservations" for them at "Hotel Burnett".

"It's mutual," he assured her, loving that this time their hearts had fallen into a unison rhythm in seconds.  "Don't ask me why, but I have the Muppet tape with me."

"Really?" she squealed, and her eyes sparkled in the light as she looked up at him.

"Really."  For that look, he'd carry it with him everywhere he went.  "I'd really like to kiss you, you know."

Her head came up and her brown eyes held many things as she spoke.  "Why don't you?"

Harm read her expression, relieved that he saw in her eyes what he felt in his soul.  "Because I still won't stop there, and we're not ready yet."

"Who made you so wise all of a sudden?"  Mac's breath drifted along his neck as she spoke with her head tilted up; he shivered and she snuggled closer.  "You know, you did say we should try that sleeping together thing again, repeatedly."

"Are you sure it's okay?  I don't want to pressure you."

This time, her lips preceded her breath, leaving a trail of kisses along his jaw.  "I would sleep with you every night for the rest of my life, even if you never decided we were ready to kiss.  Just because I love you."

Astonished to hear those three words from her despite all the time he'd spent praying for exactly that, Harm pulled them into his bedroom and closed the door with a foot.  "You do, don't you?"

"Yes."

"I love you, Sarah."

"I know."

And still without even a kiss, the two officers moved a step closer to the happiness that had eluded them for so long, unaware of how close they would come to losing it in a few short days.

=====

0525 Zulu/0025 Eastern/2125 Pacific/1925 Hawaii  
Officer's Quarters, Marine Corps Base Hawaii – 4 December 2002

Sturgis dialed the JAG Headquarters phone number without thinking before he remembered that Admiral Chegwidden's instructions were to call him at home.  Grumbling at himself, the faux Marine major scrounged around the desk for the scrap of paper on which he'd written the Virginia number before he located it and used it to make the call.

"Chegwidden," his true commanding officer rumbled after the second ring.

"It's Turner, sir.  I have the conference call number."

"Go ahead, Commander."

Sturgis read off the information for the AT&T conference call, a last minute change predicated by something the support team in Washington had discovered late in their working day.  "Ten minutes from now, sir."

AJ chuckled on the other end.  "I'll be there, Sturgis.  At least this way we can have both the Colonel and the Commander on the line at the same time."

"Yes, sir."

Ten minutes later, Sturgis initiated the conference call and within 60 seconds, the other three parties had dialed in.  "I'm glad I asked for four ports," Sturgis said to the last party to join.

"I'm just glad this is a conference call," Harm replied.  "Mac and I are close, but trying to share her little cell phone would be a bit uncomfortable."

Mac had accurately predicted the scoffs that came from McLean and Honolulu when Harm made the same comment to her; despite that, she snorted just loudly enough to earn a soft round of laughter before the conversation turned to business.

"The reason I needed to be part of this tête-à-tête, Colonel and Commanders, is that Lt. Sims has done her usual extraordinary research and found that our Colonel Waters has a few blemishes on his civilian record that were never made part of his military record."

"Why not, sir?"  Mac beat the two men to the question by a fraction of a second.

AJ sighed, the late East Coast hour taking its toll on him.  "Waters is from a very small town in rural Mississippi.  His father was the local judge."

"Good ole boys protecting their own."  Sturgis had seen it often enough.

"Yes."

"Sir, how bad are the blemishes?" Harm asked as he made faces at Mac sitting across the table from him and thanked his lucky stars that this wasn't a videoconference.

Chegwidden heard something in the aviator's voice.  "Colonel, is your usual partner annoying you?"

Mac swallowed a laugh and glared at Harm before she answered.  "No, sir, not at all.  Those blemishes?"

"Try three misdemeanor assault convictions, all of which should have been felonies according to later judicial review, and a felony conviction for arson that was overturned on appeal because of a technical error in the prosecution's case."

"Shouldn't these have been picked up when he applied for OCS, sir?" Sturgis wanted to know.

"And they would have been, Commander, had someone at the county level not forged a false report 20 years ago.  There's more:  two of the assaults and the arson were committed against African Americans – the arson charge was the result of a cross burning that spread to the victim's house and destroyed it.  The third assault was against a Roman Catholic priest who tried to press felony charges but was discouraged by his own diocese.  And there were two other felony charges that were dropped – both sexual assault."

"Son of a bitch.  So why can't we just yank him out on falsification of sworn statements and be done with it?"

"Commander Rabb, you of all people should know that it's better to get someone on the most serious charge you can rather than on serious but lesser charges.  Falsification can be a secondary charge when we nail this bastard."  AJ's profanity was almost as surprising as his lack of response to Harm's.

"Sir, aren't you supposed to remain neutral during investigations?"

"I do until the truth comes out, Colonel.  Between what you told me the other day and this revelation, the truth has shown that Colonel Waters is a disgrace to the Marine Corps uniform.  I want as many substantiated charges as we can level against him and I want anyone who is in cahoots with him, too."

"Aye, sir," Mac answered for the three investigators, glad that none of them would be involved in the actual court case as anything more than witnesses for the prosecution.

The rest of the call concerned the day's events in Hawaii and a few details about which the three officers in Hawaii needed to be clear.  The admiral listened, ever amazed at the caliber of the men and women on his staff.  "Just be careful but speedy, please.  Singer is out on 30 days' leave as of tomorrow and Roberts isn't back full yet.  Your in baskets are overflowing.  And on that happy note, I bid you all good night."  He ended his connection without waiting for any reply.

Three voices chorused together.  "Oh, joy."

=====

0800 Zulu/0000 Local  
Frank and Trish Burnett's House, La Jolla, California – 5 December 2002

Harm lay in his bed at his boyhood home holding the woman he planned to spend the rest of his life loving with every fiber of his being.  He should have been happy.  "Damn her," he spluttered instead, earning a gentle squeeze from Mac before she sat up a little to look down at him in the dimness.

"Harm, honey, there's nothing you can do.  Loren won't even confirm that Sergei is the father, and even if she did, you have no legal rights because you don't have any power of attorney."

"I know, Mac."  He settled her back against his chest, laying his chin against her soft hair.  "Doesn't mean I have to like it."

She smiled, loving him for caring so much.  "You don't know that she's actually going through with it."  _Abortion_ was such an ugly word that she couldn't bring herself to say it out loud.

A grunt was his first answer; after a moment, he gave her more.  "I'd say there's better than a 90% chance.  Honestly, can you see Loren Singer willingly going through with a pregnancy at this stage of her life?"

"Harriet was planning to talk with her."

"That woman is a saint, but it won't work."

From his tone, Mac knew Harm didn't get the impetus of Harriet's willingness to confront the selfish, ambitious lieutenant.  "Honey, Harriet's been there, remember?  In more ways than one.  If anyone can convince Loren to carry the baby to term, it will be Harriet."

Harm had allowed himself to forget the entire failed malpractice trial that resulted from Baby Sarah's death two years before.  It all came crashing back to him in one wave and he found himself tearing up at the agony his friends endured that autumn.  He remembered feeling betrayed at Harriet's revelation of her abortion as a teen and hating himself for feeling that way; he had worked his way out of that ambivalence by adopting Harriet as the sister he never had.  Along the way, he'd come to understand that Harriet's decision still weighed heavily on her and that if she could, she would go back in time to change it.  But he didn't think that Loren Singer had enough emotional depth to even get to the point of regret; that the child she would not allow to be born was his niece or nephew only made the whole situation worse.

"Sarah?"

"Yeah," she mumbled sleepily.

"If we moved up that five year deal, would that be okay with you?"

She didn't even twitch against him.  "Long as you marry me before we conceive."

Harm laughed and kissed her hair, settling into the pillows with a mind far more at ease than it had been ten minutes earlier.

=====

2050 Zulu/1250 Local  
Third Marine Regiment, Marine Corps Base Hawaii

"Colonel Rutter, may I present the staff of Third Marine Regiment."  Eugene Waters had only found out about his new XO five hours previously, but he was thoroughly impressed with the record he'd received in the morning FEDEX and with the man who stood beside him at the head of the conference room table.

The ten men around the table already stood at attention; one by one they introduced themselves to their new Executive Officer.  Happenstance put the new Intelligence Department head at the end of the list.  "Ibrahim Yassin, sir.  I believe we met at NMITC."

The new XO examined the major for a moment before he allowed a small, sour smile to cross his features.  "Yes, I believe you were a rather tough instructor, major."

Sturgis acknowledged Harm's compliment with a nod of his head.  "Yes, sir.  Two consecutive commendations as Command Course Instructor of the Year."

"I hate to break up this happy reunion, but we do have work to do.  Rutter, please help yourself to a sandwich.  We were just going to review our preparations for deployment when you arrived."

Harm did just that, then sat down next to Sturgis, who ignored him as the staff luncheon resumed.  It was truly unfair that Harm could look as at home in Marine camouflage as he did in his proper dress whites or his worn Nomex flight suit, the submariner thought as his Academy roommate showed just how much he had learned about his undercover role from Mac.  He paid only enough attention to the briefing to contribute constructively when necessary, so when Harm spoke to him at the end of the meeting, he was taken aback.

"Uh, yes, sir, my wife is here with me.  She's been back stateside the past few days but will be at the O- Club tonight.  I'll be sure to tell her you asked after her, sir."

"Actually, Major, I think I'd like to surprise her, if you don't mind.  She was very kind to me when my father died."  Thus was the excuse Mac crafted to explain how the supposed affair had begun.

To those who paid attention to the exchange, it seemed that Major Yassin tensed a bit at the last words from the newest addition to the staff.

He did, in fact.  "Yes, she was, wasn't she?  Please excuse me, sir."

Colonel Waters stepped up beside his new exec.  "You've met the major's wife?"

Harm didn't even have to fake the expression on his face when he turned to face the commanding officer.  "We're old, close friends, sir."  Not even Bud Roberts at his most naïve could have misunderstood the emphasis on the word "close".

=====

0155 Zulu/1755 Local  
Officers' Club, Marine Corps Base Hawaii

"Major, I was beginning to wonder," Colonel Waters said to his Intelligence officer as the younger man escorted his wife into the main dining room.  "Azaki," he nodded.

"Oh, it's my fault, Colonel Waters," Mac hurried to explain, taking the man's arm with a smile back at Sturgis and remembering to speak clearly through her accent.  "I got bumped from my flight back from San Francisco and didn't arrive at home until half an hour ago."  Really, her flight arrived less than half an hour after Harm's and she had spent the afternoon at Honolulu Police Headquarters with the head of NCIS-Pearl and the MCB Military Police Company CO going over the supposedly closed cases of hate crimes and the unsolved murder of the lead investigator.

Waters took her smile, her touch as signals that she would be available to him after Yassin took charge of the duty section at 2000.  He returned her smile and patted the hand that lay warm around his arm.  "Had I known, I would have delayed the party until you were ready."

Luckily, Sturgis caught Harm's eye and forewarned him with a look before Colonel Waters sashayed into view with Mac on his arm.  Good thing; as it was, the expression on the aviator's face would have given even the most ambitious junior officer a fright had there been a single woman involved.

"Michael!" Mac exclaimed right on cue when she saw Harm a moment after he saw her.  She smiled at Colonel Waters before she stepped away from him into a full embrace from the new XO.

"Azaki, how nice to see you!"  Harm kissed both cheeks and held her just a tad too long.  "It's been so long."

"Almost three and a half years since you left Virginia," she concurred, speaking as quickly as she did to her "husband".  "I enjoyed your holiday cards."

"And I yours," Harm replied, reluctantly letting her go.  "May I get you something to drink?"

"In about ten minutes, I would love an Amaretto and Coke."  Which was really going to be a Dr. Pepper, of course.

"Oh, let me get that, Colonel, Azaki," Waters inserted himself back into the conversation.

Mac shot a significant look at Harm, who asserted his right to procure the beverage.  He excused himself with a promise to return, leaving Mac with the man they were investigating.

"Given up on the baby, have you?" the man asked with a bit of triumph in his voice as he took her arm again, oblivious to the looks both Sturgis and Harm were giving him, neither invented for the roles they played.

"For now," she admitted, a tinge of sadness in her voice.  "With Ibrahim going away so soon and with no projected return date, it just seems too much."

"That's too bad," the colonel answered with no sincerity.  "This is a holiday for you, right?"

Mac nodded.

"Then we shall have dancing tonight."  And just like that, the night got extended without her proper escort.

Sturgis came to them then, wondering why the two were laughing.  "I see you've been entertaining my wife quite well, sir," he snarled just low enough to escape the notice of others standing nearby.

"Oh, yes, Major, I have, and I promise that I will do so in proper holiday spirit after you've gone off to your duty station."

"As will I," Harm added, rejoining them with her drink and a gin and tonic of his own.

Mac knew the fast was officially over by her internal clock, but she made a show of checking her watch before she accepted the supposed Amaretto and Coke from Harm.  "To friends old and new," she toasted, and drained the glass in two swallows.

Sturgis grimaced and took the now empty glass.  "I'll get you another.  Colonel Waters?"

"Draft Sam Adams, thank you, Major."

Mac made the second "Amaretto and Coke" last much longer – all the way through a dinner that Harm found…stimulating.  Mac did everything in her power to make the commanding officer jealous as she showered attention on the new executive officer, who decided that he rather liked the sexy vixen side of his partner.  Every once in a while, she would deliver a tolerant smile to Sturgis, who as planned looked less and less happy as the evening progressed.

"Too bad you have duty tonight, Major," Harm goaded as Sturgis started to leave.  "You'll miss out on the festivities.  There will be dancing!"  He acted far more intoxicated than he was; the hibiscus plant behind his chair probably wouldn't survive the night after five stiff rounds of Scotch and soda in the space of an hour, however.

"I'm sure I'll have plenty of other opportunities to dance with my wife, Lieutenant Colonel Rutter."  He controlled the fury in his voice with obvious effort.  "Azaki, I will call you later and see you in the morning for breakfast.  Col. Waters, Lt. Col. Rutter."  With that, he stalked out.

Col. Waters raised his glass to Mac and Harm.  "Let the party start.  Call me Eugene."

Two hours later, the party was winding down and Col. Waters was almost falling down drunk.  Not so drunk, however, that he couldn't make a pointed and leading observation from his new exec when the woman in question went off to find the ladies' room.  "She's not exactly the right color for a wife, but she'd make a damn fine distraction."

"Ooo rah, Gene," Harm affirmed, thinking about the wife part and his evolving Christmas Eve plan.

Twenty minutes – and two more drinks – later, the CO made a very serious pass at Mac.  "'zak," he tried, "you're the mosht bootiful wo…wo…girl I every saw.  Kissh you?"

Beside her, Mac saw Harm clenching and unclenching his fists.  This assignment was going to be very hard on him, so she smiled and put on her best diplomatic smile.  "Colonel, that's a really bad idea.  You're not capable of making good decisions right now.  Let me walk you home."

"'kay."

Waters really was far more drunk than he had been on Monday and it took both Mac and Harm to keep him on his feet for the 50 yard walk to his quarters.  Harm had to unlock the colonel's front door, but he drew the line at helping his new commander beyond the foyer.

"Walk 'zaki home," he ordered his executive officer as he staggered to the stairs up to his bedroom.  "I'll come when I can."

"Aye, sir," Harm nodded.  He ushered Mac outside.  "So, how far is it, really?"

"Less than a mile.  Nice night for a walk, Michael."

They walked arm-in-arm in companionable silence; it was easier to pretend that they weren't undercover that way.  Only after she invited him in for a drink did Harm relax a little. 

Mac called Sturgis to warn him about Waters' last words before she turned to Harm.  "I love you, squid," Mac whispered to him in her normal voice, unbuttoning his uniform coat.

All but one part of him was fully relaxed now.  "I love you, Sarah, and what are you doing?"

"Taking that uniform off of you.  You look silly."  

_She giveth, she taketh away_, he thought, enjoying the experience anyway.  He sat down on the couch and held his arm out for Mac to slide up against his side as she turned on the television and VCR.  "Are we going to watch what I think we're going to watch?"

She giggled and tucked her head into his chest.  "I can't help it if I want to watch the Muppets with my man."


	10. X

_Disclaimers in part I._

1115 Zulu/0115 Local  
Headquarters, Third Marine Regiment, Marine Corps Base Hawaii – 6 December 2002

Sturgis jumped when the phone rang at his elbow.  "Yassin."

"Major, this is the Provost Marshall sergeant of the watch.  You left word that you wanted to know if anyone left Colonel Waters' place, sir."

"Yes, I did," he confirmed.

"Well, Colonel Waters just staggered out of his house and we're following him toward officer country.  Should we stop him, sir?"

"Only if it appears that he is about to hurt himself, Gunny."  He had troubled himself to find out who the Marines on watch were, even if he couldn't remember their names easily.  "I had a heads up from my wife that he was seriously drunk and talking about doing a midnight march.  Just make sure he gets back home without embarrassment."

"Aye, sir."

Sturgis punched another button on the phone and dialed his new home phone number.  A very sleepy Mac answered on the third ring.

"It's me," he said to her greeting.

"Ibrahim, you woke me up," she complained, still groggy.

"Well, better me than who may be knocking on our door in about ten minutes."

She came fully awake.  "He left the house?"

"Yes."  Part of him wondered which room of the house the two were in and what state of dress, as well; that same part hoped it was in the bedroom undressed just because that was the right way of the universe.

"I'll be watching."  One never knew who might be listening, after all.

"Be careful."  That was for Mac _and_ Harm.

"I will."

This could either get very ugly or be a non-incident.  And nothing he could do would affect it one way or the other.

=====

1127 Zulu/0127 Local  
Officer's Quarters, Marine Corps Base Hawaii

Harm saw him first, watching from behind the front windows of the house Sturgis and Mac occupied as Colonel Waters lurched up the cul de sac.  "I guess it's show time," he whispered to his partner.

"Okay."

They went to the front door together; Harm waited until it was clear that Waters could be coming nowhere else but this house before he opened it and stepped outside.

Mac followed him, speaking clearly but with a lowered voice.  "You could stay, Michael," she pleaded.  "Ibrahim won't be home until 7."

"We can't risk it, Azaki.  Not yet."  He reached out to her, pulled her close.

Mac could see Waters stop and behind him, at the top of the dead end, the Military Police car stopped as well; whatever they saw their commanding officer would dismiss as falling under a need-to-know operation.  Mac had briefed the lieutenant colonel earlier in the day in Honolulu.  She nibbled at Harm's ear, earning a very real growl of arousal that benefited the charade.

When he could control his voice enough to speak, he said, "If you keep that up, you just may convince me to stay."

"That's the idea."  She worked her way from his ears to his neck where it lay exposed behind his unbuttoned collar, turning him just slightly so she could still see Waters where he stood 50 feet away.

Harm's hands moved of their own accord across her back until finally one hand slid up into her hair.  With an urgency not at all false, he tilted her head up and crushed his lips against hers, drawing her tightly against his body with his other strong arm.  This was all about Harm and Sarah; Michael James Rutter and Azizah Akilah Yassin might as well have been characters in a book for the eternity of that charged kiss.

Mac understood why Harm hadn't kissed her until now; only a very small portion of her consciousness was able to keep the investigation in focus enough to resist the urge to drag him back inside for the rest of the night.  She wasn't sure Harm had even that much control until with a ragged breath that was almost a sob he pushed her away.

"I can't stay, Ma – Azaki.  I just can't!"  Harm turned and sprinted away, brushing past the still gaping Eugene Waters as he fled, praying that his near slip of her name would go unnoticed by the hungover commanding officer.

Behind him, Mac stayed on the porch, reaching out for her fleeing lover with one long arm while she held the fingers of her other hand to her kiss-swollen lips.

Waters watched, a part of his brain barely sober enough to make a decision about how to handle this unexpected turn of events.  With a feral grin at the woman he knew as Azaki Yassin, he tossed a salute her way and turned around to walk back home.

=====

2200 Zulu/1200 Local  
Colonel Waters' Quarters, Marine Corps Base Hawaii – 7 December 2002

Harm and Sturgis had spent the past day and a half on tinder hooks, waiting to see which part of the bait Colonel Waters would take – if any.  Mac's intuition was that he would go for the whole thing, but neither man was convinced of that after a perfectly normal business day on Friday.

Not until after the regimental evolution for Pearl Harbor Day observances did Waters make a move; it was, as Mac predicted, toward Harm.  "Colonel Rutter," the man began, catching up with his XO as soon as the final command to dismiss had been issued, "I'd like to invite you back to my place for some down home barbequed ribs this afternoon."

"That's very generous of you, sir.  I'd be delighted," Harm replied, lying through his teeth and trying not to think of the meat involved in this bargain.  "Can I bring the beer?"

"Now that's generous, Mike.  A good American, of course."

Harm laughed.  "Sam Adams okay?"

"Of course."

Harm arrived exactly on time – he had to as Michael Rutter, something Mac had hammered home to him back in La Jolla – with two six packs, not knowing if others had been invited.  It turned out it was just for male bonding between CO and XO, which meant that a lot of really good beer was going to wind up on the lush Hawaiian grass over the course of the afternoon.

"So, Mike, you're from Alabama, I noticed.  Where's the accent?"  Waters himself had lost a lot of what had been a thick Mississippi drawl over the years, but he had never really paid attention to the change.  He ushered Harm to his back yard and indicated a chair, allowing Harm to set the beer down before he snagged a bottle.

"I was a drama minor in college, sir, just for the fun of it."  He smiled from his chair, then went on in full Southern voice.  "Them Vikin's up thar in Minnesota lacked to have dahed tryin' t'get me to speak prop'ly, Eugene."

Waters had only just unscrewed the top to his beer or he might have had a mouthful to spit out.  "Why in God's name did you go to Minnesota?"

"Football scholarship," Harm shrugged.  "Second string quarterback for three years, even played in a bowl game my senior year."

"Well, at least it's not quite such a diverse part of the country as Mississippi or Alabama.  Or Hawaii for that matter."

Harm fought to stay in character.  The man was so prejudiced.  "Not so much anymore, I'm afraid," he commented with as much sadness in his voice as he could muster.

It must have done the trick.  "Well, some of us are still fighting for what we know is right.  Little battles in a war almost everyone else has given up, but something nonetheless."

"Really?"  Harm opened his first bottle of beer as his host struck a match and lit the charcoal in the grill.

"Absolutely.  Why do you think Major Yassin had duty Thursday night and Captain Goldstein last night?"

The lawyer tipped his head in thought.  "I just kind of assumed it was the standard duty rotation."

Waters sat down and laid a finger beside his nose in the universal "this is a secret" gesture.  "Oh, no, Colonel.  Thursday was the end of Ramadan – a big two-day festival to mark the end of that ridiculous fast those people do.  And yesterday, in addition to being the Sabbath, was the end of Hanukkah.  Yassin is the ranking ra – Muslim and Goldstein the ranking Yi – Jew."

At least the man used the proper terms, Harm thought, really not wanting to have to listen to the crap he was sure Waters would spew over the afternoon.  It was bad enough that the first syllables of derogatory words had been uttered.  Steeling himself and praying that God would understand it was all an act designed for a higher purpose, he answered.  "That's extraordinary!  And you can get away with it because you have Christians working on Christmas and Easter, right?"

"Since most people agree that Catholics are Christians, it works out well," the other man admitted.

"What do you do about…ethnic celebrations?" Harm asked casually.

"Oh, if it's your holiday, you work it.  Unless, of course, you're one of us true red-blooded native sons."

_He said it so smoothly_, Harm thought.  _But how could someone this blatantly racist get so far up the chain of command?_  "I noticed that there are no women in the headquarters company of the unit."

"Women have no place in this man's Marine Corps, and I have made that abundantly clear to the detailers who handle this regiment.  The last one in HQ comp transferred out in March."

The man whose female partner was a lieutenant colonel in "this man's" Marine Corps struggled to keep a straight face and his temper.  He'd let Mac go after Waters for that remark later.  "Preachin' to the choir here, Colonel.  They weaken the Corps and the whole military."  For which remark, even said undercover, the aforementioned Marine lieutenant colonel would kick his six into the next decade to remind him that, push come to shove, she was tougher than he.

"Women are good for two things:  bedrooms and kitchens."  Waters turned a big grin to his XO.  "And some are especially good for the former, right, Lt. Col. Rutter?"

Harm eyed him warily.  "I presume so."

The other man punched his shoulder in a manly gesture.  "I saw you leaving her yesterday morning, Mike.  You two have it bad."

_If you really knew…_  Harm sat in silence for a moment as though contemplating just how much to trust his new CO.  Then he flashed his own trademark Flyboy grin.  "Azaki is, as you said the other night, one damned fine distraction."

"As well as a chargeable offense."

_Hook, line, and sinker, just like Mac said.  Why do I even bother to doubt her?_  "I suppose that's true," he admitted hesitantly after another long moment.

"I get the feeling that Major Yassin would not take kindly to finding out that he's been cuckolded."

"I suppose that's also true."

Waters let the subject drop while he checked the coals and found a pro football game on the portable radio beside him on the table.  He grabbed his second beer and swigged half of it before he spoke again.

"So, your file makes interesting reading, Mike.  Something about a medic with a messiah complex who nearly cut your vocal cords out you while your last unit was embarked with the George Washington battle group?"

He'd get Admiral Chegwidden for making him relive the harrowing incident on the U.S.S. Watertown, however far removed the twisted version was.  "Well, we had a female Marine who wasn't entire useless on staff – Ops, actually – and she started to notice a pattern in the injury reports, so she decided to do a little investigating.  In the process, she nearly got me killed when the bastard came after me with a scalpel and did get herself killed – technically, anyway, by an overdose of morphine.  The Silver Cross is for saving her life."  He suppressed the shudder that wanted to come with the memory of Mac's lifeless body in his arms as he tried to get her breathing again.

"Nice.  At least she got you something."

"Well, she was also very grateful," he added with a sly smile.  "Until the day she transferred out."

"Another damned fine distraction?"

Harm shrugged.  "Gratitude only goes so far.  I was tired of her anyway."

"And she wasn't Azaki Yassin."

Waters was persistent.  "No," "Rutter" admitted, "she wasn't Azaki Yassin."

Over the next two hours, the talk centered on the pro football season, the action in Afghanistan, the situation in Iraq, and the Republican takeover of Congress.  And, by the time the meal was over, the secret to perfect barbecue.

"You sure grill up some mighty fine ribs," Harm admitted to the colonel, meaning it even as he wondered how long it would be before his body rebelled at the invading animal product.  "I don't know which was better, the beef or the pork."

"Well, thanks, Mike.  It's all in the dry rub.  Meat tenderizer, salt, black and red pepper, onion and garlic powders, fresh cilantro and basil in top secret proportions.  Twelve hours, then slow grilled and basted with a top secret formula barbecue sauce during the last twenty minutes of cooking."  Waters looked smug and satisfied as he opened his fifth beer of the day.  "You must do some barbecue, too."

Harm shook his head.  "Nah, my daddy is the master of the fire around our house.  I'm a vegetable and bread man, actually."  At the other man's questioning look, he continued.  "Mom taught me how to make all of Dad's favorite side dishes before she died when I was a teenager.  I've got the blue ribbons from the state fair to prove I make the best baked beans, hominy grits, and buttermilk cornbread in Alabama."  He popped the top off of the fourth beer he'd opened for the day, although it would only be the beginning of his second actual drink.

"Well, in that case, how about bringing some baked beans and cornbread over on Thursday night?  Me and some good friends of mine have some planning to do for some good old Southern fun and I think you'd fit right in.  And Major Yassin doesn't have duty that night."

Harm didn't take the invitation as a suggestion.  "Sir, I'd be delighted."

=====

1910 Zulu/0910 Local  
NCIS Office, Pearl Harbor Naval Station, Hawaii – 11 December 2002

Mac had gotten precisely nowhere since her return from California in her investigation into the murder of NCIS Agent Kenneth Carrollton.  She was also investigating the hate crimes because that's what he'd been focused on when he was killed; she wasn't much farther along on that.  Six teens had been implicated before Colonel Waters had pressed for the hate crimes case to be closed; four had since moved away with their families and the remaining two were doing Oscar-worthy imitations of clams.  That they refused to talk even with promises of immunity from any state and federal charges told her that someone with a much bigger stick than life in prison held them in sway.

She was looking over a series of photos from the scenes of seven different racially based crimes and the murder site when a young clerk knocked on the edge of the fabric cubicle wall and waited for her to look up before he spoke.  "Uh, Mrs. Yassin, I think I found something that might help you."

"Leon, that's great.  What is it?"

"Well, ma'am, I found a log book that indicates that Agent Carrollton made a delivery to the evidence locker early in the day before he was killed.  Seven boxes."

Mac stood up without thinking about the action and motioned for Leon to move.  "Lead on, Leon.  Can you find it?"

The eager young man nodded.  "Yes, ma'am.  The catalog numbers are in the delivery log."  He took her down to a secured vault on the ground floor of the building.  "According to the map of the room, these boxes should be along the left wall about half way down, somewhere on the fourth or fifth shelf from the bottom."

Mac smiled at him, eliciting an embarrassed grin in return as he spun the lock open and let her into the immense room.  They found and retrieved the seven boxes, exchanging excited looks when they realized the boxes had been sealed and marked at the crime scenes but never opened for testing.

"So, Mrs. Yassin, if these boxes are from the original crime scenes, then the evidence that Agent Carrollton used to build his case was stuff he developed on his own after the whole case was closed."  Leon bounced on his toes as he began to grasp what he had discovered.

"Go on," Mac encouraged, having decided on first meeting the recent college graduate that he had the stuff of a great investigator and analyst.

"His evidence wouldn't be admissible in a court.  But all seven bear the original Military Police, NCIS, and 5-0 marks and dates, so if we can show that Agent Carrollton had signed them out for delivery to us – even if it was months before he actually got them here – then the chain of custody is reasonably secure."

"That's right.  What else?"

"There's got to be substantive evidence in here that's never been properly examined.  Probably – hopefully – enough to develop an indictment."

Mac patted his shoulder.  "Leon, I hope you get into law school.  You'll do just fine."

"Thank you, ma'am.  What do we do with this now?"

"Let's call 5-0 to see if we can get them to put a rush on this stuff.  If it's in here, I want to know where its components were manufactured, milled, or mined.  And I want as many fingerprints as possible, although the oldest stuff is almost a year old."

"Well, Mrs. Yassin, we might get some prints off of the last material gathered – the Passover attacks.  That was just the end of March and early April."

"Maybe.  Okay, you get on to 5-0.  I'm going back to the photos.  Maybe they'll tell me what those kids aren't."

=====

1230 Zulu/0730 Local/0230 Hawaii  
JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, Virginia – 12 December 2002

Jason Tiner didn't really have to be at his post until 0750, but with Lt. Col. Mackenzie, Cmdrs. Rabb and Turner, and Lt. Singer away, Admiral Chegwidden had been giving him more responsibilities of late.  He could tell that the owner of the tired voice on the other end of the phone had been intending to leave a voice mail message when she answered his greeting with a yawn.

"Col. Mackenzie, ma'am, it's 2:30 in the morning where you are.  Is everything okay?"

"Yes, Tiner, it's fine," she assured him in her kindest voice.  "I just want a business day's jump on this.  Anyone in yet other than you?"

"No, ma'am – oh, wait, I'm going to put you on hold; I just heard the elevator start down."  He pushed the hold button and dashed out of the admiral's reception area to the lobby.

The doors opened a few seconds later, revealing Lt. Cmdr. Manetti.  "Tiner!  You're here early."

"Yes, ma'am.  I have the colonel on line 1 and she's looking for the first attorney to arrive."

"I'll get it in my office," the genteel Virginian replied, moving off down the hall with her regulation heels tattooing along the highly glossed tile floor.  A moment later, before she even set her briefcase down or took off her overcoat, Tracy picked up her receiver and punched the line live in one swift movement.  "JAG Headquarters, Lt. Cdr. Manetti."  Just in case it wasn't really the chief of staff.

"Tracy!  Great timing."

"Good morning, Colonel.  How are you?"

"Honestly?  Tired and frustrated, but I'm hoping you can help me with the later so I can get over the former," replied the voice from Hawaii.

"Yes, ma'am, I'll do my best."  She listened to Mac for three full minutes, taking notes on a convenient pad as the senior officer spoke.  "I think I understand, ma'am.  I'll enlist Tiner's help and try to have an answer for you before the end of our business day."

Mac sighed in apparent relief 4,800 miles away.  "Thanks, Commander.  Call NCIS at Pearl and ask for me under my cover name when you have information for me."

"With pleasure, ma'am.  Please give the commanders my best.  We miss you."

"I'll bet," Mac's dry answer came.  "Feel free to raid my inbox if you get bored."  She waited for the other woman's equally dry chuckles to stop before she signed off.

Tracy leapt from her desk and sprinted back down the hall to Tiner's desk, where she laid out their research assignment for the day.  "Can you handle this, Petty Officer?"

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am!"  Gunnery Sergeant Galindez had been teaching the young enlisted man to do exactly this kind of thing before the Marine left for combat duty.

=====

2130 Zulu/1130 Local  
Headquarters, Third Marine Regiment, Marine Corps Base Hawaii

"Major Yassin, you've made a lot of assumptions here about the technology we might have access to outside of Kandahar," Harm prodded loudly.  The two stood in full dress uniform with the rest of the regimental command staff on the parade ground awaiting Colonel Waters.

"For now, sir, yes I have.  That is based on the reports of the units currently assigned to the region.  My staff and I are preparing alternative plans as well."  Sturgis kept his voice level.

"Work faster, Major.  We have to pick these plans apart."  Harm stabbed a finger at his Academy roommate.  "And I'm sure we'll have some slack to pick up before we're ready to train for them."

The accusation hurt even though Sturgis knew it was all an act.  He hated being told he was incompetent for any reason, even when it was true.  So he replied in the only way allowable with a gritty tone.  "Aye, sir."

A few minutes passed before Harm spoke again, this time at a lower volume.  "You have the 48 hour duty rotation Saturday and Sunday, correct, Major?"

"Yes, sir, Colonel Rutter."

"I presume you will follow standard protocol and stay at the headquarters building since Second Battalion will be in the field."

"Yes, sir."  If this situation hadn't been a cover, Sturgis might be thinking seriously of decking the senior officer simply for what he was implying in his tone.  But the last thing they could afford in this investigation at this point was a disciplinary hearing, so he simply allowed himself to look angrily at Harm and spoke as clearly as he possibly could.  "If you think that my watch duty gives you an excuse to entertain my wife, you are sadly mistaken, Colonel.  I have my suspicions about what happened after your father died and if I could get one shred of conclusive proof, I'd have you up on charges so fast you'd wish you'd died then, too."

Harm just looked at him, playing the cool womanizer to the hilt.  "Major, that kind of possessiveness can get more than one person hurt."  He ought to know; Bud Roberts had suffered a badly broken jaw because he stepped between a possessive Michael Brumby and a jealous Harmon Rabb and the incident still rankled the senior American officer because of the lack of discipline it showed.  The beating he'd given Brumby later as part of the non-judicial punishment for the broken jaw, however, was another story, one he was beginning to wish he could relive with Eugene Waters.

Sturgis was saved from a reply when the regimental commander arrived.  The full battalion parade drill evolution commenced under the watchful eyes of CINCPACFLT, the Assistant Chief of Naval Operations, CINC-Fifth Fleet, the Commandant of Marine Operations in the Pacific, and four or five other admirals and generals.

Only CINCPAC himself knew that two Navy lawyers were among the men on the field and why they were there.  It pained him to know that men such as Colonel Waters existed; it pained him even more to know that the system had allowed the man to get as far up as it had.  The regiment before him was one of the very best in the entire military, but it would be better if the colonel hadn't been so adamant about the exclusion of women from the command staff and if the transfer request rates for Marines of any non-white ethnic background weren't the highest in the military.  Waters kept driving the best of the best away, but one didn't summarily remove a proven, proficient officer at these levels without substantial documentation of wrongdoing.  Maybe the beautiful Marine lawyer working with NCIS would provide the evidence so they could all enjoy a happy holiday season.  He prayed.

=====

0105 Zulu/2005 EST/1505 Local  
NCIS Office, Pear Harbor Naval Station, Hawaii

"Mrs. Yassin, you have a call on line three," the receptionist announced over Mac's intercom, interrupting her train of thought.

"Thank you, Marie."  She sighed, hoping it would be Tiner or Manetti with preliminary results of their research.  She picked up the handset without looking up from her crime scene photos.  "Azaki Yassin."

"I wish you'd let us call you later at home," the voice on the other end growled with something of a smile detectable.  "That damned accent…"

"Admiral Chegwidden, I'm surprised to hear directly from you."  She was, too.

"I have Petty Officer Tiner and Lt. Cmdr. Manetti here with me, Mac.  They brought me some very interesting information, which is why I decided I'd better be part of this call."  Mac might have to maintain cover, but her colleagues in Falls Church didn't.

"Oh?"

Manetti spoke next.  "Yes, ma'am.  You gave us six names to run through NCIC and military criminal files.  We got hits on five of them in either NCIC or military files."

Mac sat back in her chair and began to chew on the top of her pen.  "Go on, Commander."

"Yes, ma'am.  Corporal du Lancie is from New Orleans.  He has a juvenile rap sheet that's still sealed and an adult record with two charges on it, both dropped in exchange for his testimony against two friends who are now serving life sentences in state prison for rape and attempted murder."

"He was involved in that crime?"  Most recruiters would have marched someone with that suspicion right out of the station.

"No, ma'am, he was accused of felony assault and arson; when he rolled on his friends, he gave the DA enough to go after them for the more extensive crimes."  Tiner read off the fax from New Orleans District Court when he continued.  "'In exchange for his cooperation and testimony, upon the conviction of Gerald H. Fox and William Le Grainge all charged against the accused are dropped and the record ordered to be expunged 5 years from this date.'  The order is signed by the chief justice of the court and dated 4 February 1999."

Mac nodded, unseen by her colleagues.  "Let me guess.  The victims were African American."

"In one.  There's more, Mac," the admiral answered.

"Yes, ma'am."  Jason Tiner shuffled some paper before he started again.  "Staff Sergeant Wander enlisted rather than face jail time for a felony assault charge, as well; there's no indication of the race of his victim in the record but it took place in south central Los Angeles in May, 1992."

"The riots," Mac said immediately.  "That's two.  The others?"

Manetti picked up.  "Dillard, Reeves, and Houston were all previously assigned to MCB Cherry Point together, where they were part of a Marine Recon unit.  Apparently, they traveled to Fayetteville one night and met up with some members of the 82nd Airborne.  Words were exchanged, a fight ensued, and three members of the 82nd Airborne were hospitalized overnight for concussions, contusions, and other minor injuries."

"Were charges filed?"

"Yes, ma'am.  The three men were convicted of misdemeanor property destruction in a civilian court; a court martial convicted them of felony assault in the third degree and sentenced each of them to thirty days' confinement, loss of rate, and three months' loss of pay.  Their CO revoked their status as Force Recon eligible, as well, and released them to the general assignment pool after their confinement."

"And about the sixth man, ma'am, he's a first-year midshipman at Annapolis.  He received a SecNav nomination after a glowing recommendation from Colonel Waters."  Tiner obviously didn't like that fact.

Neither did Mac; Mikey Roberts deserved better than to be in the same classification as anyone involved in the crimes she was investigating.  "Did you check his record there, Mr. Tiner?"  She had to force herself to be more formal than usual; after all, she wasn't supposed to know these people.

"Yes, ma'am.  He's on behavioral probation due to significant problems with authority, particularly with his company commander, who is of Asian descent."

Mac chewed on her pen and on this information for a moment.  "Admiral Chegwidden, don't you think it odd that Colonel Waters would write a persuasive recommendation for Annapolis after only knowing a Marine for one month?"

Before Admiral Chegwidden could reply, Cmdr. Manetti did.  "Oh, no, ma'am.  Midshipman Swift was a petty officer third class on board the U.S.S. LaSalle while Colonel Waters was on staff with the Persian Gulf Marine Task Force.  He went right from the LaSalle to the Academy."

And Waters came to Third Marine directly from PGMTF, Mac mused.  "Petty Officer Tiner, I want you to check something else for me – first thing in the morning your time, find out if Waters and Swift are related.  Otherwise, it makes no sense for an enlisted man to visit an officer, especially since he was involved in both an event at Christmas time and one around Easter."

"Yes, ma'am.  Shall I call you?"

"No, Petty Officer, an e-mail will be fine."  She gave him her official NCIS address.  "Thank you for your assistance, Admiral, Commander, Petty Officer.  I hope this will be over soon."

"So do we, Mac , so do we."


	11. XI

_Disclaimers in part I._

0245 Zulu/1645 Local  
Headquarters, Third Marine Regiment, Marine Corps Base Hawaii

Sturgis had laughed at her when she said she wanted to pick him up after work for a change.  "You just want to see Harm in full Marine Corps dress uniform," he had teased under the noise of a radio playing "Jingle Bell Rock."

Mac hadn't bothered to deny it; the flush on her cheeks gave her away.  But she could make him squirm, too.  "I think Bobbi might be more impressed with you in that uniform than she already is with your plain old Navy dress blues."  She gestured to his own clothing, the red and blue of the world-famous Marine dress uniform, in which Sturgis really did cut a dashing figure.

He had then leaned in and kissed her cheek.  "Plain old Navy dress blues?  Oh, I forgot.  You're the one woman on whom dress whites and gold wings – or dolphins, as the case may be – have no affect."  They had both laughed and another day undercover began.

And now it was more than half over, Mac thought as she leaned against the sensible Honda Civic sedan that was the Yassins' one car watching for Sturgis and, hopefully, Harm.  She figured Sturgis might have tried to clue Harm in if he'd had a chance.

A few minutes later, it appeared he had done just that; when the two men exited the building, they were clearly arguing.  But that really didn't matter to Mac because her very own Squid stood in his usual Top Gun "I am the best in the world so don't mess with me" stance in the only uniform that, in her objective opinion, really warranted that attitude.  It did look good on him, but Sturgis was wrong.  Dress whites and gold wings – at least those items when worn by Harmon Rabb, Jr. – did affect her, right down to her toenails, and her objectivity went right out the window.  There really was only one uniform for her Squid.  She'd take him this way, however.

"Major Yassin!  Colonel Rutter!  Can I give you a lift?" she asked in a drill sergeant-worthy voice that sounded funny with the Farsi accent.

Harm and Sturgis stopped their heated discussion as they came down the steps toward the beautiful woman calling to them.  They traded a subtle look before Sturgis spoke to Mac.

"Azaki, you didn't need to come for me," he chided, not gently.

"No, I didn't.  But I thought maybe because your dress shoes hurt your feet…" she trailed off.

"What, you think I'd wimp out and not walk home?  I'm a Marine, woman.  I can stand a small blister on my toe at the end of a day."

Mac looked like she was ready to cry.  "I know you can.  I just thought I'd try to do something nice because we've had a – "

"Don't you ever air our dirty laundry in public, Azaki," Sturgis' hiss interrupted her as he stepped closer to her.  He ignored the fact that Harm was going into "protect Mac" mode beside him.  "Our problems are nobody else's business."

Colonel Waters chose that moment to leave the building.  Mac stiffened, a cue to the men that they had a more important audience than the passersby who had alternately hurried and paused at the scene.

"Major Yassin, perhaps it would be best if you allowed your wife to do this kindness for you," Harm tried to soothe, earning a smile from the woman in question.

Sturgis reared back and turned on the taller man.  "Lt. Col. Rutter, you are one of the reasons we're having difficulty.  So I'll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself."

"Are you coming with me or not?" Mac demanded, reaching out to him.

"No."  Sturgis shook her hands off his arms and got up in her face to yell at her, "No, I'm not going with you!  I'm going to the gym and then I'll figure out where to go to get some peace and quiet for a night."  With that, he stormed away, leaving Harm standing with Mac.

_Damn, Sturgis is a good actor,_ Mac thought as the tears started.  It wasn't hard for her to summon anger and sadness enough to cry; all she had to do was think about the ferry in Sydney Harbor.

Harm didn't know what she was really thinking, but as he tried to stay in character, he wondered if he was the cause of her very authentic display.  "I'm sorry, Azaki," he said, patting her shoulder.  "I should have stayed out of it.  I think he's beginning to suspect us."

She threw herself into his arms.  "I don't care," she returned.  "He hurt me."  

A moment later, with Harm's hand rubbing soothing circles on her back, she dared to look up at the commanding officer.  He stood watching them with a tight smile as though waiting for something more to happen.

Harm must have read her mind; he opened the door and helped her into the car, then went around to the passenger side and got in beside her, motioning for her to start the vehicle.  "He won't follow us," Harm said as she pulled the car up to the street to go home.  "He's got a few friends coming for dinner."

"Is he expecting you?" she asked.  They hadn't had a chance to talk directly since the previous week and some things you just couldn't put in e-mail.

Harm grinned at her.  "Maybe not now."

"But you'll go anyway, right?"

"Yeah," he sighed.  "I have to bake cornbread at your house and then go back to the BOQ on my way to his place to pick up the baked beans."

"Enough cornbread for us and you've got a deal," she agreed.  "And before you ask, Sturgis made your cornbread the other night, so yes, we do have the ingredients."

A while later, Sturgis literally crawled in the back door of the house while Harm stood at the counter mixing the cornbread batter.  "You know, buddy, some men would object to another man standing around in his t-shirt and trousers with his wife perched on the counter next to him," he announced, watching his two friends flirt from the floor before he stood up.

"I sure as hell would," Harm agreed, taking the opportunity when Mac turned her head to grin at Sturgis to stick his finger in the batter.

"Awww, Harm, that's sweet," Mac said, swiveling her face back to meet his batter-covered finger.  "And that's mean," she added, reaching her hand up to wipe her offended nose.

Harm caught both hands in one motion.  "Sturgis, you might not want to see this," he warned with a grin, leaning in toward the woman he loved.

Rolling his eyes with a long-suffering sigh at his friend's antics, the submariner went on through the kitchen just as Harm's lips made contact with Mac's nose.

"Mmmm, tasty."  He backed away only a fraction.

"Harm, you are seriously warped," Mac managed before she started giggling.

He gave her a Flyboy grin.  "But you love me anyway."

"Yeah, I do," she answered with a grin of her own.

"And I love you," he said as he dropped a soft, slow kiss on her lips.  It was a little easier to kiss her and keep it from getting out of control when circumstances prevented true privacy.

Sturgis caught the tail end of the kiss as he came back; he noted that neither Harm nor Mac looked the slightest bit embarrassed when they parted to see him standing across the breakfast bar from them.  With a smile of his own that almost met Flyboy criteria, he winked at Harm.  "So, I guess that ring really helped, huh?"

"Oh, yeah."  He went back to prepping the cornbread.

Now, Mac did flush.  She and Sturgis had a bet going as to where she'd be wearing that ring when this assignment was over.  In one way, she hoped she lost – a trip to Las Vegas over Christmas would be fun.  But she knew that she and Harm needed time to make their relationship strong enough to last forever before they could take that final step.  Before she could say anything, Harm moved on to business.

"Okay, what do we need to know?"  He slid two cast iron skillets of batter into the oven, then led Mac to the table in the dining area.  Sturgis followed.

Mac filled the two men in on her own investigation and on what Manetti and Tiner had found out.  "The one thing we can't prove to any degree of certainty is that Waters was actually physically present at any of the crime scenes.  We have a good circumstantial case against him for conspiracy, but I wouldn't take it to court."

Sturgis and Harm looked at each other and back at Mac before Sturgis spoke.  "Would Harm?"  If Mac wouldn't, they all knew Sturgis wouldn't because he was more conservative than she.  Harm, however…

"I doubt it."  She explained the connections among the six whose fingerprints had been found on the evidence in the boxes delivered to Pearl NCIS by Agent Carrollton before his death.  The only common thread was Waters; only one man had been in Third Marine while the others had been assigned to various other commands at MCB Hawaii.  Except Swift, who in Mac's mind was a wildcard.

"Nope, I wouldn't.  Not yet."  Harm checked his watch, stood up to stretch.  "I've got about 40 minutes before I need to be at Waters' place.  How are we going to play this?"

"Come back here and make a big deal of it," Sturgis responded without a pause.  "He heard me say I wasn't staying here tonight, and I made sure no one saw me come back.  If you don't come back, he'll be more suspicious than if you do."

"And in the morning?"

Sturgis smiled.  "I'll leave the same way I came in and you can leave by the front door.  I wouldn't be surprised later in the day to have a visit from the Colonel with evidence of your malfeasance."

"Why would he do that?" Mac wondered, then the answer came to her before either man could answer her question.  "Of course.  If he wants to make a move on me himself, then he needs to escalate the already present hostility between Colonel Rutter and Major Yassin.  But what if it suits his purposes better to keep Rutter hanging?  I would think that controlling his XO gives him more options.  And he's certainly not going to help someone he doesn't like because of his skin color."

"Marines," the two men said together.  Neither of them had come from that angle.

=====

0610 Zulu/2010 Local  
Colonel Waters' Quarters, Marine Corps Base Hawaii

"Damn, Colonel Rutter, but you do make fine baked beans," a crusty maverick captain said, leaning back against his chair with a satisfied grunt.

Harm smiled.  "Thanks, Warren.  Secret family recipe."

"All the best Southern recipes are," Eugene Waters added.  "So, shall we adjourn for cigars and brandy?"

The gathered men, all officers, all from the South, all WASPs for lack of a better term, laughed heartily.  Cigars, yes.  Brandy?  Not likely.

Harm declined the cigar Gene offered him.  "Lung cancer runs in my family," he explained with a shrug.  And Mac would kill him if she smelled it on his breath, since she had been the one who convinced him to give up even the occasional enjoyment of a stogie.

"Too bad.  These are Cubans."

That really was too bad, Harm admitted to himself.  Clayton Webb had once provided him with three precious Cuban cigars; at least he'd managed to enjoy them before Mac's moratorium.  "I'll get them vicariously, Gene."

Soon the room filled with the aroma of sweet tobacco and whiskey, of which Harm had only a single shot while the others enjoyed much more than that.  The nine men and the colonel, mostly staff members from three of the four battalions in Third Regiment with one or two from the base itself, seemed intent on bashing nearly every kind of human being except white men.  Until someone mentioned that he had seen the new regimental intelligence officer's wife at the commissary.

"She is one hot Arab," the young lieutenant narrated as his hands outlined exactly what he meant.  "Even under that veil thing, you can tell she's just aching for someone to show her how a woman ought to love a man."

"I think she's already had that," Waters said with a significant look at Harm.  "And after what I saw today, she may get it again tonight."

Harm shrugged in that nonchalant way men have to convey truth.  Bragging about it made it untrue – or at least exaggerated.  The others hooted and chucked his shoulders until he held up his hands and deigned to give them a little more information when they quieted.  "Let's just say that once still waters are set running deep, they aren't so still anymore.  And they get deeper."

Not one of the men had any trouble deciphering what they thought he meant and more hooting followed.  He stopped them again.  "And as stimulating as this conversation has been, I would very much like to see if I can enjoy that lake all night tonight instead of only an hour or two here and there."

And with that, the men ushered him to the door.  After the man they knew as Colonel Rutter departed, the remaining ten men turned to business.

Gene Waters had a multi-part plan.  "Gentlemen, I have a way we can have our cake and eat it – or her, in this case – too."  Ferral grins appeared around the room.  "I need two men to stake out the Yassin house with a couple of good cameras.  We want proof so that Col. Rutter won't get cold feet when it comes time to execute the second part of the plan."

"What's part two?" the captain named Warren asked.

The colonel explained for a moment, earning nods from the other men.  "And part three happens when Second Bat has some unexpected opposition during their night maneuvers and the good Colonel Rutter has to go out with the duty officer, Major Yassin, to investigate."

"What kind of unexpected opposition?"  This from the deputy ops officer who had been so rude to Major Yassin on the man's first day.

"The kind that we do best, of course.  Second Bat's got one company that's heavy with the kind of Marines who aren't quite up to snuff.  When we know where on the exercise field they will be, we'll know how to go after them.  Can Delta/First handle it?"  The colonel looked to the captain named Warren, who commanded First Battalion's Delta Company.

"Ooo rah, Colonel."  He wouldn't have to tell his platoon commanders why, just where and when.

"Good.  I'll have the battle plan tomorrow afternoon and will pass it along to you.  Who's doing the stakeout?"

The two men would have a long night, but it would be worth it, they discovered.

"Gentlemen, when this is over, we will have a celebration to remember, complete with the hottest woman in Hawaii to make sure we're very relaxed."

=====

1255 Zulu/0755 EST/0255 Local  
Officer's Quarters, Marine Corps Base Hawaii – 13 December 2002

After Harm's debriefing, the three undercover JAG officers had decided that sleep early on was a necessity.  Sturgis didn't bat an eye when Harm followed Mac into the front bedroom, nor did he say anything at the sight of mussed hair on the aviator's head when the three met again for a conference call with their commanding officer, who was supposed to call them when Bud and Tracy were available.  Speakerphones were valuable enough tools that Tiner had suggested sending one out to Hawaii – in a box labeled "Dry Ice – Contents Perishable" so as not to arouse suspicion.  Harm had run the phone line to the little black spidery box before the trio went to bed.

"You know, it's better for some of us to still be awake at o'dark fifty-five," Mac joked with a yawn as she ruffled Harm's hair further.

Sturgis laughed at Harm's grimace before he turned serious.  "Coffee, or are we going to try to sleep again for a couple of hours after the call?"

"I don't have to be anywhere until 0900, so I'm going to try to sleep."  Mac's statement elicited a groan from the men.

"We have staff call at 0745.  Are you ready to leave from here, Harm, or do you have to go back to the BOQ?"

The man in question stretched and reached his arms up behind his head to capture Mac to him where he sat.  "I'm good, but I think some attempt at subtlety would be appropriate.  I should be out of here at 0715 to be early at the office."

"Pull your chair out, Sailor," Mac demanded, swatting Harm's shoulder.  "I need to sit."  Which she proceeded to do, in his lap.

"You two are just too much," Sturgis muttered, but the smile on his face took the sting out of his words.

The phone finally rang; Mac answered with a push of the receiver button.  "Mackenzie."

"That was a risk, Colonel.  What if it hadn't been us?"  Admiral Chegwidden's voice came clearly through the tiny amplifier.

"Then it would have been a telemarketer or a fax machine, sir," Harm spoke.  "We gave you the second line number that Mac and Sturgis use for internet."

"Good morning, Commander Rabb, Commander Turner.  Now, what's up?"  Mac's brief call late in the previous evening had made him nervous; the admiral didn't like it when his people had to get involved in dirty operations in order to stop them.

Harm did most of the talking; Bud asked a number of astute questions as Tracy provided valuable insight from her own experience as a Southerner of mixed heritage.

"Why can't we just find proof that these men belong to the KKK and be done with it?" Mac whined.  "It would be so much easier."

"Somebody went to sleep too early," a dry chuckle from the admiral teased.

"Yes, sir, I did."  That she had been wrapped in Harm's arms only made the sleep better, which was ultimately a bad thing for a woman used to sleeping from 0230 to 0630 if she were lucky.  "I'm sorry, sir, that was out of line.  I'm getting closer on the hate crimes cases to having enough for indictments, but we don't have Colonel Waters yet.  I also don't have any leads on Agent Carrollton's death except the new ballistics match between the bullet found at the last hate crime site and the one that killed him five months later."  That piece of information had been delivered with a flourish by a detective from Hawaii Five-0 who then asked her out, oblivious to the gold band on her finger until she waved it at him.  Sturgis had been amused; Harm had not.

"Ma'am, what kind of gun was it?" Bud asked.

"Nine millimeter Browning Short cartridge without rifling, so it's a good bet that the shooter used a semi-automatic pistol.  The ballistics expert at 5-0 said he'd bet a Heckler and Koch or possibly a Glock.  There are no other matches in NCIC; with your permission, sir, I'd like to get checks done in every state Colonel Waters has lived in."  She turned to glare at Harm, who had started caressing her arms while she talked.

"Granted," AJ replied without missing a beat.  "Have them get duplicates to this office while you're at it, Colonel."

Harm chose that moment to breathe on her neck; she held herself in check and squeaked out "Aye, sir,"  in as normal a tone as she could before she stepped on Harm's toes with her bare feet.

"Commander Rabb," Chegwidden started, and Harm wondered for an instant if they were really on a videoconference because of the man's timing, "I trust that you can handle whatever Colonel Waters throws your way without breaking any laws."

_Unless he hurts Mac,_ he didn't say.  "Yes, sir."

"And you're holding up well, Commander Turner?"

He smiled at Harm and Mac.  "I have my distractions from the stress, sir."

"Rabb and Mackenzie, sir?"  Bud's question could have been interpreted differently by others, but almost everyone involved knew exactly what he meant.

"How would they be a distraction?" the three in Hawaii heard Lt. Cmdr. Manetti ask.

Harm yawned.  "Are we done, sir?  I'd like to go back to bed."

"You notice, Tracy, that he said 'bed', not 'sleep.'  Yes, Harm, we're done.  Don't keep your partner awake."  With that, the call ended abruptly.

"What in heaven's name did that mean?"

"Harm!"  Mac and Sturgis looked at each other; Mac motioned for the amused Navy officer to go on, sure he would say basically the same thing she would.

He had to work not to laugh.  "You're busted, Harm.  You told Bud, Tracy, and the admiral exactly where you're sleeping."

Harm gave Mac an alarmed glance, but since she was smiling, he figured it wasn't a career-breaker.  "Oh.  Come on, Sarah.  Let's go back to bed."  Then it was his turn to smile.

=====

2200 Zulu/1000 Local  
Headquarters, Third Marine Regiment, Marine Corps Base Hawaii

Eugene Waters was in an evilly good mood.  Major Yassin looked a lot worse for wear after what Waters had to assume was a sleepless night in a hotel off base wondering if his wife was enjoying the company of another man.  The colonel could have answered that question for him, but it served his purposes better to deal directly with the other man.  Colonel Rutter, for his part, was all but whistling "Dixie" through the insufferable grin on his face; Waters suspected that the photographic proof of the man's misdeeds would only dim the smile by one or two degrees.  The bargain that came along with keeping that proof to himself, however, might be enough to deflate the monstrous ego.  Time to find out.

He punched the extension on the intercom.  "Colonel Rutter, may I see you in my office, please?"

"Certainly sir," the voice came back.  "I'll be there directly."

And he was, Waters noted.  "Please, have a seat, Mike."  He waited while the man followed instructions.  "Have you approved the Second Battalion exercise OB?" he asked, referring to the Order of Battle plan that would be tested over the weekend.

"Yes, sir," Harm replied, thankful for all the times he had been privy to ground combat planning, particularly in Afghanistan this past year.  "They've got some creative tacticians over there."

"Good to hear, I suppose.  You'll observe?"

"Yes, sir.  I'm flying out to the exercise field Sunday morning."

Waters nodded.  "Good.  I need your help with something Saturday night."

Harm froze momentarily, wondering where this might lead.  "With what, sir?" he hedged.

"Relax, Colonel.  It's a party.  And I want Mrs. Yassin to be my hostess."

That wasn't in anybody else's playbook, Harm thought with a touch of panic.  "Why would she want to do that, sir?  And won't it look funny for you to host a party with another officer's wife?"

Keeping his attitude relaxed, the commanding officer smiled at his executive officer.  "In answer to the second question, it is a little-used but perfectly valid tradition when the ranking officer is unmarried to have a dutiful staff wife serve as hostess at any unit function."

Harm nodded reluctantly; Admiral Chegwidden had never taken advantage of the tradition and probably would have asked Mac to hostess as Chief of Staff, anyway.  He motioned for the other man to continue.

"As to why," Gene pulled out an envelope of pictures and tossed them across the desk.

With a raised eyebrow, Harm picked up the package and opened it.  There were seven clear photos inside, each taken that morning when he was saying good-bye to the woman everyone knew as Azaki Yassin.  The last one showed Mac on the front porch of the house, eyes and lips smiling with what only the most cynical might not recognize as pure love, her arm raised as if reaching out to pull the object of her desire back to her.  Idly, he wondered if he could get a copy of that picture when this odious assignment was over, but then he pulled his head back into the game and looked up at Waters with a glare.  "What's the meaning of this?"

"Major Yassin might have his suspicions, but he doesn't yet have proof.  Otherwise, as he said, he'd have you up on charges."  Waters shrugged.  "Have Mrs. Yassin at my house at 1830 tomorrow.  Or at 1835, Major Yassin will have his proof."

Harm debated, but in the end he had to give in.  Going back to his office, though, he pondered Waters' move.  It just didn't make any sense at all.

=====

0015 Zulu/1215 Local  
Hawaii Five-0 Headquarters, Honolulu, Hawaii

The  5-0 military liaison officer grinned at Mac when the printer behind him started spewing paper at a rapid clip.  "Ma'am, whenever you want to take those instincts to the track, let me know."

Mac laughed and sipped at the can of Coke in her hand.  "Well, we'll see, Captain.  This is only one facet.  If I'd had as much luck with young misters Cody and Randolph, I'd be much happier."

Police Captain Holcomb opened his mouth to say something, then closed it in thought.  When he opened it again, something entirely different than his original thought came out.  "Cody and Randolph?"

"The two remaining teenage miscreants," she shrugged.  "They aren't talking and whatever's glued their mouths shut is a lot stronger than the threat of prison time."

"I know those names," the man mused.  "Kerry Randolph and Derek Cody, right?"

Now it was Mac's turn to open and close her mouth, surprised at the turn of events.  "Yes."

"They were participants in a small group mentoring program I helped to administer last year through the young offenders program.  The JAG at MCB helped us find Marines to work with the military kids."

Playing a hunch, Mac gave him the names of the other four teens who had been fingered in the hate crimes.

"Yes, all of them."  Holcomb's affirmation came with another grin before he turned to snare the sheaf of printer output behind him.

"What was the punishment if the participants in this mentoring program were caught again?" Mac asked, thinking she might have the key to both cases now.

"Well, all the participants were 15 or 16 and were in custody for non-violent crimes of one sort or another.  In lieu of adult court adjudication, the young men agreed to plead guilty in juvenile court and to participate in the mentoring program.  Successful completion of the program and a year's concurrent probation means a clean record to start adult life."  He handed the papers over to the undercover Marine.

"So if they truly participated in these hate crimes, what would have happened?"  Mac took the information but did nothing with it as she waited for the answer.

"Their cases would have gone to adult court."

Mac nodded.  "I need to think this through on the back burner," she admitted.  "Meanwhile, let's see what we have here."  She spread the three state crime lab reports out across Holcomb's desk and the two leaned over them, she reading upside down to his amused amazement.

"That 9mm has some interesting company, Mrs. Yassin," he noted after three minutes and 34 seconds of reading.

"Yes, it does," she murmured in reply.  "A possible match in Gulfport, Mississippi, from a 1998 home invasion, suspect never identified; a definite match in Alexandria, Virginia, to the bullet that killed a homeless man in 1995, suspect never identified; and a definite match to two bullets found in Kingston, Rhode Island, in 2001 after the manager of an apartment complex reported shots fired in the woods behind the buildings."

"Match your suspect's timeline?"

Mac looked up at him in surprise.  She'd said nothing about a suspect.

"It's not too hard to figure out, Mrs. Yassin," he said by way of answer to her unspoken question.  You asked for specific states, which tells me you have something more than just the bullet itself to go on."

She shrugged.  "Probably," she admitted.  "I'll have to check the exact dates, and this Mississippi thing is probably a visit rather than a domicile."

"Marine or Navy?"

"Marine."

Holcomb studied the wall for a moment.  "Quantico or Marine Barracks, maybe the Pentagon for the Alexandria.  Naval War College for Kingston – although it's not impossible for it to be security detail at Groton.  He's from Mississippi, I take it?"

"You used to be NCIS, didn't you?" she asked in return with an upturned grimace.

"Guilty – back in the days when more of the investigators were in uniform than out."

"Why would the kids let someone finger them for the hate crimes if they didn't do it?"  It was a curve ball, but Mac thought maybe she had an answer.

"They didn't really get the blame.  Someone convinced NCIS to back off…Oh, my.  Whomever got NCIS to back off either has evidence to prove that they were involved or has let them think that."

Mac nodded.  "Exactly," she crowed, standing up.  "But the evidence we found at NCIS now proves that the kids _weren't_  involved, so I should be able to get Cody and Randolph to talk."

"Unless whomever it is that has them silenced has a bigger threat than just the hit for the crime."

"Which he just might.  Thank you, Captain Holcomb.  You have been most helpful."

Driving back to Pearl, Mac decided to take one more try at getting the kids to break.  But first, she would work on the corroboration of the ballistics matches with Colonel Waters' known whereabouts.


	12. XII

_Disclaimers in part I._

0150 Zulu/1550 Local  
NCIS Office, Pearl Harbor Naval Station, Hawaii

Mac kicked herself for not asking the question in person earlier in the day, but the glaring omission had to be corrected before she could talk to her reluctant teens.  "Who were the Marines involved in the mentoring program, Captain?"

The voice on the other end chuckled.  "I figured you'd be calling back."  He gave her the six names, and each name made the air in her small cubicle colder.  du Lancie, Wander, Dillard, Reeves, Houston – and Waters.  "Which one matches the gun's itinerary?"

"Waters," she told him, "including a week's vacation to his hometown near Gulfport in May, 1998."

"It's a shame you can't get a civilian search warrant," Holcomb replied.  "I know a judge who would give you one over the phone."

Mac could have said she knew the Judge Advocate General himself and could use his authority in any military jurisdiction she needed to.  But Azizah Akilah Yassin didn't know the JAG and didn't have the authority to ask for a search warrant on her own.  "I can get one Monday from the lead judge at TSO Pearl," she said.  "He's already been briefed on this case."  Twenty minutes before, as a matter of fact, and he had been the one to point out that the missing link may in fact be found as easily as asking the question that had started this conversation.  But the judge was on his way out the door for a flight to the mainland for his oldest daughter's debut as Clara in her college's production of The Nutcracker.

"Well, that's good.  I'm sure the JAG officers to whom you hand this off will be pleased to have all the technicalities handled so efficiently.  That pair at JAG Headquarters who specialize in high profile cases like this – a pilot and a Marine, I think – will probably be in charge."

Mac bit her lip to keep from laughing before she replied in as neutral a voice as possible.  "Perhaps."  She thought the admiral might even prosecute the case himself since all of his best regular staff officers were witnesses for the prosecution.  If Waters were smart, he'd hire a civilian attorney.

=====

0410 Zulu/2010 Local  
Rooms 3421 and 3423, Hilton Hotel, Honolulu, Hawaii

"This is utterly ridiculous, Harm," Sturgis growled to his friend when the other man appeared at the connecting door between the two hotel rooms.

"Why?  I told you Waters has pictures, so he's watching us, or at least me.  We can't possibly plan strategy together if I can't be seen at your house while you're home."  Harm leaned against the doorframe, looking relaxed and happy despite the way the case was shaping up.

Sturgis rolled his eyes, partly because he knew Harm's posture was a result of his changing relationship with the colonel of his dreams and partly because he knew the man was right.  "I know that," he said to emphasize his dislike of the facts.  "What's ridiculous is that you booked two rooms.  I figured I'd go back to the house and let you and Mac stay here, although I'm enjoying the show immensely."

The Marine lieutenant colonel chose that moment to appear behind Harm.  "Sturgis, as much entertainment as we're providing you with the Flyboy's obviousness, don't push it."

"Yes, ma'am," he answered, but still with the grin as Harm started to object, only to be shushed by Mac's hand coming over his shoulder and landing against his mouth.  The sight was enough to make Sturgis close his eyes lest he laugh out loud.

Mac kept her hand in place, steeling herself against the delicate kisses Harm was laying in her palm as she talked.  "And I'd be tempted to agree with you, Sturgis, but if Waters is watching us, then you and I need to be seen together – hence the subterfuge getting Flyboy here into the hotel."  Harm was registered as himself.  "And the reason we're doing room service."  She dropped her hand from Harm's mouth and pushed him through the door into Sturgis' room.

The two men shook their heads; Mac and room service were a dangerous combination.  But over a beautiful meal an hour later, the three officers briefed each other on the latest events of the case and puzzled over the suspect colonel's order for Azaki to hostess the party.

"And the first thing I checked was whether there really is a party.  The invitations went out before we got here, and I got the sense from the others that the only good reasons not to be there are duty or death.  And if hubby's on duty, wife needs to be dead not to appear."  Harm had never heard of such mandatory social functions; highly suggested for political reasons, yes, but not required.

"So that means you're safe tomorrow, Mac," said Sturgis, relaxing a little.  "What do we do, though, if Waters decides to tell me anyway?"

"I go to the Admiral for an emergency search warrant for that gun we don't have, and we blow our covers to keep him from blowing the investigation," Mac decided, visions dancing through her head of a knock-down, drag-out fight between her favorite submariner and her beloved aviator for the sake of the case.  "After I talk with the kids tomorrow, I want to get back to the Chaplains, follow up with them on any further statements they may have taken since we've been here."

Harm nodded.  "That makes sense.  We know where Sturgis will be," he gestured with a smile.  "Suffering through 48 hours of duty with a unit out on exercise."

"Damn," the submariner answered.  "I have to spend the night in the field.  I knew there was something I should have said earlier."

"Observer?" Mac asked.

"Yeah.  Like I know what I'm doing."

She grinned back at him.  "You will."

=====

1715 Zulu/1215 Local/0715 Hawaii  
Chaplain Isaiah Turner's Home, DC Metro Area – 14 December 2002

"Well, Isaiah," John O'Neill said from Hawaii, "Imam Rais tells me that the two officers who are here undercover have certainly stirred things up with his congregation."

"Really?"  Isaiah knew nothing about the case; Sturgis hadn't called but once since he and Mac had been in Hawaii, although he had e-mailed daily just to say hi.

"Oh, yes.  Arif says it's a shame they aren't Muslims because they'd be very good role models for others."

The elder Turner had to check the snort of disbelief that wanted to escape; Sturgis wasn't exactly a "model" Christian in many ways and neither, so far as he could tell, was Mac.  To be fair, though, they were probably better at the "love thy neighbor" part than many who occupied the pews of the churches at which he preached, so who was he to judge?  "That's good to hear – I will pass that along to their commanding officer.  What about your congregants?"

"I managed to get six of the men in the unit to give me written statements.  I'll have them for the investigating officers whenever they're ready for them.  What hurts is that the colonel in question covers himself with a thin veneer of truth – that war waits for no religious practice."

"The Israelis certainly learned that the hard way in 1973," the retired chaplain agreed.  "That has to be the worst part of being a military chaplain – other than the funerals, of course.  Trying to reconcile worship with battle."

"You said that back when I was in school," the Catholic priest reminded him.  "I have another serious question for you.  I have a new family in my congregation who just came from the Boston Archdiocese…"

Isaiah Turner sighed.  Churches would be so much better off if they weren't human institutions.

=====

1820 Zulu/0820 Local  
Senior Enlisted Quarters, Marine Corps Base Hawaii

Mac had been pleasantly surprised twenty minutes earlier when Derek Cody answered the door.  Her previous attempts had been forestalled by his mother, who insisted that she wanted him to talk but that he refused categorically.  Even her appointment today had been made reluctantly and without a promise of success by the young man's father, a career Marine holding the rate of Master Sergeant.  Mac's fear had been a confrontation with a rebellious, hard-bitten, cynical teen, but Derek turned out to be soft-spoken, polite, and optimistic about his chances at an ROTC scholarship and matriculation at Boston University.

"Derek, I can't make you talk, but you need to know that there is absolutely no evidence connecting you or Kerry Randolph to the hate crimes," she said as gently as she could after the initial pleasantries.  She explained for a minute or two.  "And if anyone is threatening you or someone you love with harm if you talk, then we can protect you."  She had to talk even more slowly than normal to make sure he could understand what she said around the Farsi accent; it might have been easier to do as Lt. Col. Mackenzie, but this was not the time to break cover.

The handsome young man nodded thoughtfully before he cleared his throat and began to speak.  "I was just really stupid," he admitted, picking up with how he came to be in the juvenile system to start.  "Instead of going right to the principal with the bag of weed, I put it in my locker so I'd be on time to class.  Wouldn't you know they picked that period to do a locker search."  He looked up at Mac and smiled, rueful and abashed.  "The only reason I got off as light as I did was the drug tests were negative.  At first I thought the mentor program would be kind of geeky, you know?  But then we met the men who worked with us and they were pretty hip for old guys."

Mac kept her groan to herself; four of the men involved were 6-8 years younger than she.

"We always met together – the six of us guys and the six of them.  We had two really good meetings, but then they started talking about the bad influence that different groups have on America – like that the drug culture is all the fault of African Americans and that the reason American schools look so bad is because Asians cheat to make themselves look good.  But they didn't say African American or Asian, you know," he clarified.

Mac didn't want to know what the men involved did say.  "I can imagine.  When was this?"

"It was summer of 2001," he replied.  "We started in May and were supposed to finish in February, but because of September 11, we couldn't get all the meetings in until late April."

"Did anything change after September 11?" she asked, fingering the embroidery of her grandmother's headscarf unconsciously.

Young Cody nodded.  "It got a lot worse – the name calling and the accusations.  One day John Ghory and I overheard a couple of the men talking about letters that they had mailed to some mosque with advice on what its members should do.  It wasn't nice."

"Did you tell anyone?"

"John started to tell Colonel Waters, but he just laughed and said it was a free country.  On the first night of Hanukkah, we had a meeting scheduled and all of us guys met at the rec center like we were supposed to.  The men came in with backpacks and stuff and told us that our meeting would be shorter than usual.  They had us help them load some boxes from a couple of their cars into some guy's Suburban – I think it was Sergeant du Lancie's – when we were done.  The next day we heard about the Nazi graffiti and the smoke bomb damage at the base synagogue, but we didn't think anything about it until we met with the men again for a Christmas party.  They were laughing about how someone had really given the – I won't say what they did – Jewish people a terrific present for Hanukkah."

"Did any of you try to quit the program or tell your parents or anything?"

The boy shook his head.  "I think we just wanted out quick, so it was better not to make waves, you know?"

Mac nodded.  "Okay, what else?"

"Well, we did a work day during Christmas vacation.  The guys told us we were working on a set for a Holy Week play at the Base Chapel – we made three really big crosses, braced and sanded and everything.  A few days later, crosses got burned on lawns where people had Kwanzaa displays out – I think it was either 5 or 6, but we wondered anyway.  We were just kids," he almost wailed.

"I know, Derek.  Go on."

"Well, then over that January holiday – is it Martin Luther or someone? – any way, we had a retreat that weekend and we made these really cool barbecue grill lighters with some kind of specially treated mesquite wood that we were going to sell at the BX as a fundraiser for the program.  That Monday, a house in the officer's part of the base burned down.  My father is a firefighter and all he said about the fire was that it smelled like a good old Southern barbeque gotten out of hand.  Well, then when we went to sell the firestarters, we were missing a dozen, but Col. Waters said he'd already sold them, so we didn't question."

"It's Martin Luther King, Jr., that the January holiday is named for," Mac felt the need to explain.  "That officer's house was lived in by an African American family, right?"

Derek nodded.  "Yes, ma'am.  Peter Oxford, a guy in my class at school.  He's like the best athlete in Hawaii and maybe third in the class – he got a perfect score on the PSATs."  The young man shook his head.  "I just don't understand how anybody can say the things that our mentors did.  I'm really ashamed that we didn't – that I didn't say something a lot sooner."

"I know, Derek.  But you're helping now.  What else can you tell me?"

"Have you ever heard of blood libel, ma'am?"

Mac shivered; she'd taken a class in college about the origins of the Holocaust that explained far more than she ever really wanted to know about the history of anti-Judaism in Western civilization.  "Yes, unfortunately, I have, Derek."

"Well, these men tried to convince us that it was real – that the Passover…well, you know what I'm trying to say.  They said they would have to stop it."

"The blood libel?"

"The whole Passover service, I think was what they meant.  I just knew that when the duplex around the corner from here blew up, they did it – and they were ones who threw the pig's blood on the synagogue and I bet they also shot up the Hebrew school windows.  The next time we all were together, they told us not to say anything to anybody about what we might or might not know concerning the incidents, or the police would wind up with a whole lot of evidence that incriminated us."

"Do you know if there were any suspects then?"

"I don't think so, ma'am.  It was about a week later when the man from Family Services got a whole bunch of us – not just us in the program but like five or six other kids and their parents, too – together 'unofficially' for a lecture about this kind of thing.  He said if anything else happened, we would be arrested and that federal charges could be brought against us."  For the first time, his voice broke and he looked at Mac with a horrified grimace.  "We didn't know, ma'am.  We were scared and selfish and ignorant – but we didn't do anything wrong!"

"It certainly doesn't seem that you did," Mac acknowledged.  "You got used."

The boy sat quietly for a few minutes, thinking about what he had told his visitor.  "How do we get them back, ma'am?"

Holding back a frown, she told him, "We don't get them back, Derek.  We do justice by telling the truth.  I'm going to meet with Kerry in a little while, then I have to check with the chaplains about a couple of things.  Assuming that everything checks out, then we'll draw up an arrest warrant for each man and go from there.  You can expect more police patrols in the neighborhood and there's some folks watching out for you as we speak."

The tension evident in the young man from the moment he entered the room drained all at once; he slumped against his chair and let his head drop to his chest.  "Thank you, Mrs. Yassin," he murmured.

"You're welcome."

=====

1935 Zulu/0935 Local  
Headquarters, Third Marine Regiment, Marine Corps Base Hawaii

"Major, we've been delayed by nearly two hours," the Second Battalion commander complained.  "Air traffic control at Pearl NAS won't release my blue force choppers because some bigwig is due in at Honolulu at 1000."

Sturgis raised an eyebrow at the major.  "I'm afraid not even CINCPAC can override ATC, Connor."

"I know, Ibrahim."  The two men had taken a liking to each other early on.  "You know, if I have to have senior staff looking over my shoulder this weekend, I'm very glad it's you and Lt. Col. Rutter rather than anyone else."

"Rutter?"  That was in keeping with the tension between Yassin and Rutter, of course; he knew that Harm's innate goodness couldn't help but show through.  As for the real staff, he would have thought Dave Eisenstein, the logistics officer, would have fit the major's bill – but then Dave wouldn't have a reason to be out observing a field operation.

"Yes.  You two have…honor, I guess is the best way to say it.  Between you, me, and that coat rack over there, the only other person in the top echelon who I have respect for as a person and not just as an officer is Dave."

Sturgis withheld the sigh welling up within him; Connor Lukas was someone with whom he could be friends.  Depending on how the case broke, maybe he'd be able to make friends for real with both Eisenstein and Lukas.  "Yeah," he admitted, once again reminded of how lucky he was to serve at JAG, where only Lt. Singer was an unlikable human being – and not much more of an officer.

"This is gonna throw our time table off by a half day."

"That's bad," the JAG officer commiserated.  "Your entire Blue Team evolution depends on getting in position before nightfall."

Connor nodded, then smiled.  "Yeah, it does.  But combat sometimes doesn't go as planned…"  He'd think himself a prophet before the next sunrise.

=====

2030 Zulu/1030 Local  
Chaplains' Office, Pearl Harbor Naval Station, Hawaii

Mac was pleased that young Kerry Randolph had a story very similar to Derek Cody's to tell – after she had assured the teen and his parents that there would be no criminal complaints, of course.  Kerry was anxiously awaiting word from The Citadel for early decision and, as a mid-year graduate, had enlisted in the Naval Reserves for a late winter trip to Great Lakes for boot camp.  He had also provided Mac with more information about the group's involvement with the chapel Holy Week play.

When she arrived at the Chaplains' Office at Pearl, Imam Rais greeted her effusively and introduced her to Father O'Neill, Rabbi Davidson, and Reverend Carlessen, the senior Protestant Chaplain on base.  She decided, there in the presence of four men of God, one of whom already knew she was undercover, to break cover and reveal her identity.  She took off the scarf and set it aside, earning a knowing chuckle from Arif Rais before they all sat down around the small conference table in Father O'Neill's office.

"Thank you for seeing me today, gentlemen," she began.  "I know that Saturdays are precious to you for many reasons, so I will make this as quick as I can.  I'm Lt. Col. Sarah Mackenzie, Chief of Staff for Admiral AJ Chegwidden, the Navy JAG."

Now the Muslim cleric smiled outright.  "Ma'am, I knew you outranked me."

She returned the smile, then focused on the task at hand.  "Rev. Carlessen, Kerry Randolph told me that you and Colonel Waters had a strident disagreement during last Christmas vacation while the mentoring group was working on the set for the Holy Week play."

Carlessen, a 40-something of classic Nordic physical appearance, grimaced and shifted in his chair.  "Yes, Colonel, you could say that."  He sat forward in his chair.  "He worships here regularly, you know.  He approached me about having the boys get involved in a project here at the Chapel, so I leapt at the chance and invited them to help with the set construction.  Everything was fine until the colonel found out that the program was an ecumenical service, not just for Protestants."

Mac scratched her chin in thought.  "Ecumenical means across Christian denominations, right?  It would be interfaith if it included Jewish and Islamic celebrants?"

"Right," Father O'Neill assured her.  "It's our tradition here at Pearl and in many other places now to use Holy Week as a time to bring the Christian communities together."  What he didn't have to say is that September 11 will forever more be a time when interfaith services are the norm.

"Okay, so, Rev. Carlessen, how did he find out?"  Mac went back to the pertinent story.

"He overheard Father O'Neill and I talking with the other Christian chaplains on staff about the rehearsal schedule."  When she didn't interrupt, he continued.  "He confronted me a few minutes later when I went out to the work area behind the chapel to offer the boys lunch.  I remember that Kerry went inside – probably to use the facilities – while the colonel and I were arguing."

All lawyer now, Mac asked what she thought she already knew.  "What was the end result of the argument?"

"Col. Waters decreed that he and the boys would finish the crosses but not come back to do any other work."

Not at all disappointed with that answer, she went a little further.  "What happened to the crosses after the boys finished them?"

The rabbi shrugged his shoulders and answered before any of his colleagues could.  "Our suspicion, Colonel Mackenzie, is that the crosses those men and boys made were some of the ones that got burned two or three nights later on several lawns.  Can we say for certain that the boys or the men were involved in the disappearance of the crosses?  No, because we didn't know they were missing until after the desecration."  He slumped a bit and gave Mac a small smile.  "I'm sorry, Colonel.  It's just that I've heard enough from the men in Third Marine to know that Colonel Waters has no business in uniform."

"It's alright, Rabbi Davidson.  So, just to finish up on the crosses, none of you knew that the ones the boys made were missing until after the cross burnings?"

"That's right, ma'am," Rais said.  He was the only one not of at least equal rank to her.  "If I remember correctly, the boys worked on the crosses on a Thursday – we had evening prayers and study here that night – and then the crosses were burned on Sunday night.  We wouldn't have anyone working out in the backyard on Fridays or the weekends."

Mac looked at her notes and nodded her concurrence.  "Okay, so Monday is when the crosses were discovered missing and then…?"

Father O'Neill looked up at the ceiling as he spoke.  "We called the Shore Patrol to report it.  I think NCIS locked onto the boys because we told the SPs that they had made them."

"That's exactly what they did, sir," Mac confirmed.  "But the lead investigator quickly got beyond that to Col. Waters and his men.  It was only because Waters had enough command influence to get the official investigation stopped that we're just getting to the bottom of it almost a year later."

The four men nodded in understanding; command influence happened in the Chaplain's Corps, too.  Rev. Carlessen caught a noise and looked over at the drip coffee maker on Father O'Neill's side table.  "Coffee's done.  Any takers?"

It must have been an inside joke; the other three men laughed as the Protestant minister rolled his chair over to the pot and began pouring coffee into mugs.  "Colonel?"

"Please, with cream or whatever passes for it," Mac replied.

"Ah, Colonel, we made deal with the Rabbi's wife to assure that our good friend Solomon has to eat a dairy lunch," O'Neill pointed out.  "We have cream."

Coffee went around the table before the conversation returned to the complaints from Third Marine regarding their commanding officer.  "How many do we have who are willing to testify to what they've experienced?" Mac asked after listening to the chaplains for 9 minutes and 49 seconds without comment.

"Eleven," the Roman Catholic chaplain declared.  "Two Jewish officers; a Muslim officer and two enlisted men; and three Roman Catholic officers and three enlisted men."

"You also," Rev. Carlessen added, "have three Protestant officers who witnessed incidents and are willing to testify."

That surprised Mac; suddenly, she had a clean, easy case to present to the prosecution with a neat bow on top.  And even more to her surprise, she wished that Loren Singer were available to prosecute with Admiral Chegwidden, simply because the younger woman, for all her flaws, would make sure that Colonel Eugene Waters got his due from his behavior.  "Well, gentlemen, you've certainly given me everything I need and more.  My colleagues are wrapping up another part of the case as we speak, so I think I can safely say that Col. Waters is enjoying his last weekend as CO of Third Marine."

He was, but it wouldn't be his last for the reason she – and they – thought.

=====

0020 Zulu/1420 Local  
Headquarters, Third Marine Regiment, Marine Corps Base Hawaii

Connor Lukas finally called in from his training camp on the big island of Hawaii to say that he was ready to start his field exercise.  "Major, if Col. Rutter is available to come over with you tonight, I'd kind of like him to see how we've updated the battle plans based on the delay," the major said to the regimental S-2.

Sturgis cringed.  The plan was to have Harm with Mac at Colonel Water's party the entire time; if Harm in his role as XO needed to travel, he would have to leave the party about 2030.  "Well, Connor," he temporized, "I'll check with him and see.  Otherwise, I presume tomorrow as planned will be okay?"

"Sure.  No need to call me back; I'll just see who gets off the chopper.  See you tonight."

A few moments later, Sturgis was on the phone with Harm, careful to stay in character lest any of the other watch staff be within hearing range.  "Colonel, this is Major Yassin."

"Major," Harm replied, his tone conveying that he understood the need for circumspection.

"Major Lukas respectfully asks if you can come out to the exercises range this evening.  He has adapted his plans based on a four-hour delay necessitated by an inbound VIP and would like you to see them implemented."  Sturgis picked up a retractable pen and began to click it in and out as he waited for Harm to answer.

He heard Mac in the background, barely, and wondered if Harm had his hand over the transmitting end of his cell phone.  "Waters is by the book.  He would expect you to go."

Harm's answer to Mac came through a little more clearly.  "Is it a set up?"

Faint again:  "Lukas?  Not with the fact that he was 3 when his parent emigrated from Czechoslovakia in 1970."

Leave it to Mac to have read every officer's personnel file and to remember the pertinent details.  "Colonel?" he prompted.

"Sorry, Major.  I was just thinking about the regimental party tonight."

"You don't have a choice, Harm," Sturgis heard Mac say.  "We'll just make sure that he hears me say I'm drinking non-alcoholic beverages."

Harm's frustrated sigh came through clearly.  "I guess I really ought to go tonight with you, Major.  I'll drop my gear by once I've picked up the hostess for the party tonight."

Sturgis decided to play on.  "Who's the hostess?"

"Didn't you know, Major?  Your wife."

The watch staff really didn't know why the officer of the day was in such a bad mood after that phone call.

=====

0425 Zulu/1825 Local  
Colonel Water's Quarters, Marine Corps Base Hawaii

If they had been even a day more ready for the consummation of their relationship, Mac would have seduced Harm just to tame the nervous, angry Naval aviator as the afternoon wore on.  He didn't like the idea of Mac being left alone with Waters at all; that neither he nor Sturgis would even be on the same island made it all the worse.

Alone in the official car the XO rated before the two got out at the CO's home, Mac took her sailor's hands and held them to her heart against the fitted brocade dress she wore.  "Harm, honey, listen to me," she pleaded one last time.

His green eyes continued to show his distress, but he met her gaze with a hint of a smile.  "I'm listening."

"I'll be careful tonight, I promise.  I have a lot to live for."  She let a little tease into her tone.

His eyebrow quirked almost in spite of his mood.  "Yeah?  Like what?"

"Like dinner at 1789 and Christmas morning at your place, complete with a stocking and a tree."  She picked his hands up and pressed kisses into each palm.

"That doesn't sound like much, in the long run.  Anything else?"  Now his voice took on a teasing tone of its own.

Her reply, however, was as serious as she could possibly make it.  "Halves."

Harm's expression changed; his eyes grew wide and dark with love and desire.  "Halves," he echoed in a hoarse, thick voice, pulling her into his arms for a long, sweet kiss before the two officers had to get themselves back to work.

Waters welcomed them into his home with what might have been genuine affection and set the two to work on the finishing touches.  As 1930 approached, the three set out drinks and the first of the appetizers and sweets in anticipation of guests arriving early, as one expected with Marines.

"Azaki can I get you a drink?" Waters asked while Harm was in the kitchen loading the oven.

"Thank you, Colonel.  Dr. Pepper would be delightful," Mac answered.

He looked disappointed.  "Nothing stronger?"

"No, thank you.  Not when I'm hostessing.  You never know who might need a ride home."

The colonel really couldn't argue with that logic, so he let it go and asked the same question of Harm a moment later.

"I'd love a whiskey sour," he replied, "but my presence has been requested on the exercise field for revised night maneuvers, so I'll have a Diet Coke."

Not even Harm, who expected it, could detect a flicker of excitement in the regimental commander's face as the man shook his head.  "That, my friend, is too bad," Waters commiserated, giving his XO a light tap on the shoulder.  "Especially since…" he jerked his head in Mac's direction and winked.

Harm, somewhat relieved, returned the wink.  "I had today."

That earned a chortle from the other man just as the doorbell rang to get the party underway.


	13. XIII

_Disclaimers in part I._

0735 Zulu/2135 Local  
Camp Golf, Island of Hawaii

"Colonel, Major, welcome to Camp Golf, sirs," Major Lukas' adjutant yelled over the still slowing rotors of the helicopter.  "It's a five minute drive to our command post."  The young second lieutenant led Harm and Sturgis to a HMMVW, where a corporal sat in the driver's seat.

"I don't see how this will prepare us for Afghanistan in February," Harm noted.  "I've been there.  It's cold."  Well, not there exactly then, but Saudi Arabia got almost as cold and darned sure Iraq did, and he had been both of those places in February.

The younger officer, not yet in service seven full months, nodded.  "Yes, sir.  Maybe we should stop in Alaska and run an exercise on our way."

Harm and Sturgis traded looks.  It wasn't a bad idea.  Sturgis told the young man so.  "And I promise I won't tell anyone where the idea came from, Copras."

"Thank you, sir.  We're here."  He showed the two senior officers into the tent that served as the command post for Second Battalion.

"Colonel!  Thank you for coming out, sir!"  Major Lukas saluted, then reached out to shake Harm's hand.  "Major Yassin, good to see you."  He and Sturgis shook hands, and then it was all business.  "As you hopefully know, sir, my OPFOR had an unexpected four-hour head start because of inbound VIP traffic."

"Vice President Cheney," Harm nodded.

"Well, sir, I decided that the Blue force would come in under a different deployment plan than the one the OPFOR intelligence unit was provided with."  He laid out two sets of maps.  "This is what OPFOR is expecting," he pointed, "and this is what we've done."

Harm could tell that Sturgis was a bit more out of his submariner's depth than he was himself, so he spoke out loud as he reviewed the maps.  "You've taken Charlie and Delta companies and moved them laterally what, a click and a half so they're not facing OPFOR deployments directly.  You're hoping that Blue can go right through a couple of holes in coverage between Alpha and Bravo companies."

"Wait a minute," Sturgis lifted his hand toward the second map.  "You've switched Bravo and Charlie."

Lukas nodded.  "Yeah, we did that last night.  Bravo has been on Blue too often of late."

None of the three knew it, but Delta Company of First Battalion was at that moment moving up behind what had been the Charlie/Second – now Bravo/Second – positions to wreak some havoc with a far more nefarious purpose than anyone on the island except their own company commander knew.

=====

0805 Zulu/2205 Local  
Colonel Waters' Quarters, Marine Corps Base Hawaii

_Something isn't quite right,_ Mac thought as she said goodbye to the last of the party guests.  _I feel lightheaded and woozy and it is way too hot in here._  "Happy holidays," she waved at the door with Waters standing behind her.

"Azaki, you don't look so good.  Come and sit down, and let me get you some juice."

She really couldn't argue, so she allowed Eugene to lead her to the sofa in his elegant living room before he went into the kitchen.

In the kitchen, the colonel tightened the top on a dark bottle that looked very much like that an infant's medication would come in, complete with a dropper top.  He smiled and reached for the pitcher of orange juice that had been in use at the impromptu bar – his specialty, mixed so well that people added the usual amount vodka to the concentrate/Everclear punch.  He debated for a moment after he poured out a small glass, wondering just how much affect the alcohol would have on his guest now that she had something else in her system.  He wanted her uninhibited, not comatose; the small glass of "juice" would be fine and also disarm any suspicions she might have.

"It's very warm in here," Mac said when he came back into the living room.

"Take off your scarf," he advised.  "I know, I know, it's against the rules of your religion.  But I'm guessing that common sense can sometimes overrule the rules."

Mac nodded wearily and accepted the glass of orange juice; she really did feel as though the flu had suddenly taken hold of her body.  "Thank you," she mumbled, downing the contents of the glass in two swallows and then whipping her head covering off.  "Give me a minute and I'll be ready to help you clean up."

Waters smiled at her.  He knew that wasn't the next thing on the agenda.  "Sure.  Just relax and I'll get started."

_It's a shame he's a racist bastard,_ she thought as she lay on the couch.  _He's really quite charming when he wants to be._  And then two shots worth of 180 proof alcohol from the spiked orange juice hit her system like a Sidewinder missile obliterating its target.  The cravings she had thought quieted since Mic and all the stress he had unintentionally dropped into her life disappeared back to Australia raised their ugly voices.  Maybe if she could just make it to the bathroom…

She pushed herself up slowly, fighting the intense faintness only to find that it gave way to a sense of euphoria.  It took all her will power to stay focused and not give in to the urges to run for the nearest bottle of liquor and drown herself in it.  Mac staggered down the hall, making it to the toilet just in time to lose the contents of her stomach.  She rinsed out her mouth, grateful that she maintained control enough to get  rid of the alcohol and…Rohypnol?  GHB?  Something else, surely, now that she could think more clearly after a moment's rest.

Which meant that Waters was planning something and expected her to be compliant.  It was Harm's worst nightmare come true, but at least she had some warning.  Maybe she could get away somehow before she got hurt any more – and before the siren song of alcohol overwhelmed her once again.

=====

0830 Zulu/2230 Local  
Camp Golf, Island of Hawaii

Neither Sturgis nor Harm was unaccustomed to the idea of the "God Box"; submariners and aviators both rotated through various forms of battle exercises and had to live through After Action Reports that amounted to point-by-point second-guessing by the observers in the control room.  Even so, it was strange for the two Naval officers to be standing in the "God Box" of an infantry exercise, but they couldn't show their discomfort except in meaningful looks between them.

Harm at least had been on the ground and in more than one land battle of sorts, so he had a little more of an idea of exactly what was going on.  Or so he thought until a frantic voice came over the OPFOR communications network.

"Matilda Six, this is Joey Six, we are under attack.  Repeat, we are under attack!"

The battalion operations officer was serving as the OPFOR commander for the exercise.  He looked across the tent at Major Lukas, who shook his head in a gesture that clearly meant, "I'm not here for you to ask."

"Joey Six, this is Matilda Six Actual.  Say again!"

The response was first an unmistakable burst of automatic weapons fire, then a long scream before a different voice came on the line.  "Matilda Six, they're firing real bullets, sirs!"

Now Lukas did step in, seeking clarification from each of his other companies.  All proved to be just where they were supposed to be – which meant that Bravo Company was engaged with an unknown force equipped not with administrative sensor-based weapons but with live ammunition.  Controlled chaos ensued as Lukas mobilized his basically unarmed troops to deal with the situation.

Harm and Sturgis went with Lukas into the field; before the three men and their driver could get to the Bravo Company encampment, word came from the control room that the situation had been resolved – and that Lt. Col. Rutter would not be happy with what they would find, nor would Major Lukas or Major Yassin.

=====

0845 Zulu/2245 Local  
Colonel Waters' Quarters, Marine Corps Base Hawaii

Mac had been able to play at near-incapacitation long enough to regain some of her equilibrium, but she could still feel the effects of both the alcohol and whatever else it was that the colonel had slipped into her last soft drink.  It wasn't too hard for her to just let the man get close.

"Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?"  He sat down on the couch beside her and slid his arm around her shoulder.  "I'm sure your husband has no clue."

"He knows," she mumbled weakly, only half-feigning.

Waters dropped his head down next to her ear and breathed lightly into it.  "And Rutter, ardent though I'm sure he is, must be a very clumsy lover."

Clumsy was not a word she associated with the few sexual skills she had thus far experienced with Harm.  With words, yes, but physically?  "Oh, I don't know.  He certainly knows how to please me."

"Then you must be a generous lover yourself."  

She felt his lips moving against her neck, and suddenly it was too much.  She elbowed him in his exposed stomach and pushed up and away from him.  Unfortunately, she didn't have her normal strength, so the move only startled him.  He rose from the sofa with a roar and grabbed her in one swift move.  He backhanded her with vicious force and the last thing she saw before the blackness claimed her was the colonel's angry, rapacious grin.

=====

0905 Zulu/2305 Local  
Camp Golf, Island of Hawaii

The Marines who had fired on Bravo/Second apparently realized their error within moments of the first shots because when the Second Battalion CO and the two officers from Headquarters Company arrived, the miscreants were standing in a tight circle inside a perimeter of very angry men.  It made Harm's job relatively easy.

"What the hell were you doing?" he screamed at the first available officer inside the guards line.

"Colonel Rutter, sir, I don't exactly know, sir!" the second lieutenant, just as young as the man who had met them at the helo pad, barked back.

With the kind of icy precision that made both opposing counsel and their clients squirm and beg for mercy, Harm drilled his anger home.  "Lieutenant Farrow, I suggest that you get with the other platoon leaders here in your little circle and figure it out real quick, because I want an answer in three minutes or I'm coming after hide all the way up."

"Sir, yes, sir!"  The others had heard Harm's order and moved around in such a way that the four platoon commanders could stand together and talk.

Meanwhile, Major Lukas and Sturgis had been talking with the Bravo Company commander, who was pale and shaking with repressed fury.  "Colonel Rutter, sir, you'd better hear this," Connor Lukas called.

Harm's departure from the immediate area of the "captives" gave them a reprieve; the older officer noted with satisfaction that the four young men – _God, were Sturgis and I ever THAT young?_ – relaxed just a little as they continued their discussion.  That boded well for their future as leaders.  "Yes, Major?"

"This is Captain Rowan, CO of Bravo Company.  And this," Lukas said, gesturing to an officer just stepping up after his 6 mile overland ride in a HMMVW, "is Captain Garcia-Rojas, CO of Charlie Company.  José, you're going to want to hear this, too.  Go on, Gary."

Captain Rowan nodded and began his report in rapid-fire mode.  "Sir, we had just settled in for the night when our reconnaissance patrol reported unusual noises from about a half-click behind us.  He said that whoever it was knew our tactics because they were evading the night vision lines of sight.  We mobilized and called the engagement, figuring it was one of our own Blue force units on a night strike.  The other side didn't respond verbally.  They started shooting.  I have sixteen dead men, two dead women, and twenty-one wounded and ready to be evacked from the two volleys those men in that circle over there fired before they dropped their weapons and surrendered.  They're from Delta/First, sir, and they say Captain Warren told them they were carrying blanks.  Sir."

"Where's Warren?" Harm and Major Lukas asked at the same time.  Lukas continued, "Medivac chopper are on the way, Gary."

Rowan nodded, then picked up with the answer to his superiors' question.  "They don't know, sir.  He didn't come ashore with them."

Harm motioned for Sturgis.  "Major Yassin, get on the horn and find me Captain Warren.  Use the Shore Patrol if you have to – Warren was a little late to the party at Waters' house, but he was there.  Major Lukas, call up the choppers – emergency evac, as many as we can get spun up.  This exercise is cancelled.  I want those platoon commanders with me."

All four officers around him snapped to attention and threw salutes before moving off to accomplish their assigned duties.  Harm paced.  It had to be related to the whole investigation if Warren were involved, and Warren wouldn't have acted without Waters' approval; furthermore, for ammunition to be live instead of blanks, someone in the regimental armory had to be involved, which meant…who in Dave Eisenstein's group had been at Waters' house on Thursday night?

He let that percolate through his brain as the four platoon commanders from Delta/First were brought forward, the nerves of the guards from Bravo/Second only slightly less on edge now than a few minutes before.  "Well?" he asked simply.

Farrow had obviously been elected spokesman.  "Colonel Rutter, sir, this is what we know.  Yesterday afternoon, Captain Warren called us in and told us that he had an assignment for us directly from the CO.  Colonel Waters apparently wanted to test a certain company of Second Bat, sir, to see if some deficiencies had been corrected.  Captain Warren said that the idea was to go completely outside their chain of command to pull a total surprise on them.  We were to come up to this position and gain the advantage with an administrative first assault.  We even had their tag frequency dialed in."

The Marine referred to the sensors each man – and woman, in the case of Bravo/Second – on the field wore during an exercise; the rifles each carried were supposed to be loaded with dummy rounds that gave the feel of a real live-fire shot but had no casing to travel the distance.  Instead, when the shooter pulled the trigger, a laser triggered the appropriate sensor on the target and determined on the master board if it was a kill, a severe injury, a slight injury, or a miss.

"Did you load your own weapons?"

The look 2nd Lt. Farrow gave Harm was what he had previously thought of as a patented Mac look; now he knew it was issued at the Marine Basic Officer's Course along with a set of BDUs and a rousing "oooh-rah!"  "Lt. Col. Rutter, have you ever fired a weapon that you didn't load yourself, sir?" he returned unnecessarily.

"No, Lieutenant, I never have," Harm admitted, truthfully.  "But you noticed nothing different at all about the ammunition."

"That's correct, sir.  As you know, the blanks are designed to be exactly the same weight as the real shot, and to achieve that, the jackets are identical."

Harm nodded.  "Who was your issuing weaps officer?"

The young platoon commander thought for a moment.  "First Lieutenant Melville, sir."

"Tall, red hair, thick Idaho/Montana accent?"

"That's him, sir."

Harm started listing the offenses with which he could now charge Colonel Eugene Waters as the first of the medivac choppers descended to the bivouac.  Sturgis came back from the communications tent looking as though someone had slipped him a particularly bitter pill.  "Major?"

"I found Warren.  He was with Waters."  The lawyer was so angry he forgot protocol.  "Warren says his men acted on their own and Waters backed him up.  No dice on the Provost Marshall, either – Waters is going to send them away if they come because you don't have the authority to have Warren arrested."

The two men hadn't been best friends for 20 years for nothing; Sturgis hadn't said everything because he couldn't say it safely.  The sinking feeling in Harm's stomach had nothing to do with 18 dead Marines and everything to do with his one beloved Marine; he tried to convey his concern in a casual yet studied glance at his friend.

Sturgis nodded and lowered his voice.  "Yes, sir, at Waters' house and it sounded like a blanket party in the background."

"I have to get back."  No one, seeing the look on their regimental executive officer's face, would dare to stand in his way.

=====

0940 Zulu/2340 Local  
Colonel Waters' Quarters, Marine Corps Base Hawaii

Mac awoke to find herself stripped to her underwear with her arms lightly bound behind her back.  Her head hurt unmercifully, but what she could see of her body in the dim light of the room appeared to be unharmed.  Then she moved and every muscle in her body screamed in protest as hazy memories of the last…twenty three minutes…came back to her.

Waters had left her alone, she thought, when she passed out the first time.  She remembered hearing another voice when she came to three minutes later; it was a thick, smoke-roughened voice with a cultured accent, probably Georgia.  Waters had never said the other man's name that she could remember, but the other man had wanted a go at her right away; Waters told him he would have to wait his turn but if he wanted to teach the little bitch a lesson about behavior, he was welcome to grab a blanket.

Which, she agonized, he had done, and the blows he delivered, while painful and potentially deadly, left no marks on her at all.  She remembered that the phone rang, that Waters' livid voice rose exponentially in volume and that he said "Yassin" and "Rutter", so she had cried out as best she could while the other man beat her.  And she remembered that the two men had held her mouth open and poured straight vodka down her throat; not much had gone down, thankfully – they wound up wearing more than she swallowed because neither man would actually reach in to hold her tongue down after she bit down hard enough to draw blood from the CO.  _Think, Marine.  How are you going to get yourself out of this without Harm?_

"You're awake again," Gene Waters said as he came around the end of the couch and saw her eyes open.  "You know, you'd be much better off if you'd just share.  Selfishness is unbecoming of a lady."

_Accent!_ she reminded herself before she spoke.  "Why are you doing this?"  The pain in her voice was real.

The man laughed.  "Because I can.  That's what power is all about, and in this unit, I am the power.  If I want something another officer has, I just take it.  And in your case, I'm taking away from two officers, which gives me more power and leverage.  And since I have power, I can be magnanimous and share the spoils with some of my friends."

"I'll call the police!"

The other man spoke this time, from somewhere behind her.  "No, you won't.  If you do, you'll ruin your husband's career, because we can prove that he's a spy for an Islamic terrorist group, and your precious Colonel Rutter's career because we can prove that he's committed adultery."  His laugh turned harsh.  "And do you really think that once we've proved your husband's connection to terrorism, the police will give you any credence at all?"

That was the trap, then.  These men had calculated everything out to the point that their criminal activities were so deeply covered in lies that they felt invulnerable.  They just hadn't counted on three determined undercover lawyers to blow it for them.

"Oh, and Azaki?"  Waters, again.

Mac groaned as she struggled to sit up.  She was going to face this with as much dignity as she could.  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a 9mm pistol on the lower shelf of the coffee table.  A plan began to form.  "What?"

"We can ruin their names even if the rest of the plan works and one of them winds up…well, dead."

=====

1040 Zulu/0040 Local  
Headquarters, Third Marine Regiment, Marine Corps Base Hawaii – 15 December 2002

First Lieutenant Reginald Melville stood before three very angry senior officers in the conference room with a grin that some would describe as "s--t eating."  He had been dragged by the Military Police from an enjoyable encounter with a lovely young lady who thought him just divine to face Lt. Col. Rutter and Majors Yassin and Lukas, but he knew that nothing the three could do would affect him because Colonel Waters had his back.

"Does it bother you in the slightest that 19 Marines are dead?" Lukas shrieked.  One more woman had died in transit – a newly promoted sergeant who had just told him the day before that she was pregnant with her first child.  Connor dreaded talking to her husband more than anything else he had on his plate.

"Of course it does, sir," Reginald replied in his laconic, northwestern way.  "But it's hardly my fault if their carelessness and inattention put them in danger.  It seems to me that you bear a large part of that blame, with due respect, sir."

Sturgis had to hold the battalion commander in a full Nelson to keep him from launching at the younger man while Harm struggled to hold his own temper in check.  "Easy, guys," the submariner murmured to his two friends.

Harm found his voice first.  "Lieutenant Farrow, would you repeat your experience at the regimental armory this morning, please?"

Farrow, sitting with the other platoon commanders from Delta/First, stood to make his report.  He finished with damning words for the logistics and supply officer who had issued ammunition to his unit.  "We all went to the same Basic school, Melville.  That's where they taught us that we have to take responsibility for whatever happens on our watch.  I will have the deaths of 19 Marines on my conscience until the day I die, even though I had absolutely no way of knowing that the ammunition was rigged.  You should have that same guilt, even if the switch happened before you took the watch.  I don't think it did, however.  I think you pulled the switch between the time Second Bat was issued their gear from 0400 to 0500 and the time we arrived at 0800.  And given the staff on duty with you at the time, I don't think you had help."

That would get sorted out later, of course.  Harm asked each of the other platoon commanders from Delta/First to tell his story, but it was abundantly clear that Melville wasn't bothered in the least.  Furious but holding on by a thin, frayed thread, Harm finally spluttered, "Damn it, Melville!  Who put you up to this?  You're ruined anyway!"

"Oh, no, not at all, Colonel."  The tall redhead smiled innocently as he reached into his pocket and extracted a sheaf of 4x6" pictures.  "Major Yassin, you might want to take a look at these, sir.  I think you'll find them most interesting.  And helpful."

Sturgis knew what the pictures were, of course.  Harm had waxed eloquent about a couple of the shots, wanting copies for himself when the whole case was closed.  As he looked through them, he had to admit Harm was right, but that reaction had to stay hidden under the mask of the now conclusively cuckolded Major Yassin.  "I will deal with this later," he spat out at Harm in as vicious a tone as he could muster.  "Right now, the men are more important."

"I'm sure your wife," Melville nodded at Sturgis, "and your lover," he nodded at Harm, "would be thrilled to hear that she takes a backseat to the Marine Corps.  I wonder if she and Colonel Waters are having fun yet?"

"Get him out of here," the JAG lawyers snapped in unison, which evoked a rough bark of laughter from Major Lukas as he tried to figure out what had just happened.  The two MPs who had been standing unobtrusively against the wall took custody of the 1st lieutenant and escorted him out of the room.

"Where's the JAG?" Harm asked after a moment, wiping his hand down his face and snorting inside at the irony of that question in the circumstances.

"Waiting outside, Colonel," one of the platoon commanders answered quietly.  "He brought two legalmen with him, as well."

Harm nodded.  "Good.  Okay, the four of you and Captain Rowan need to make statements.  Use my office and the intel bay.  Major Lukas, please stay.  You too, Yassin."

When Harm and Sturgis were alone with Connor, the two men from JAG traded an eloquent look that spoke volumes.  Sturgis waved to Harm for the other man to begin, knowing that as soon as he had spoken his piece, Harm would be off to take care of Mac.

"Major Lukas, we have something to tell you that for the moment can go absolutely no further," Harm warned.  After the man nodded his acceptance of the terms, the JAG officer continued.  "Major Yassin, his wife, and I are all from JAG headquarters in Washington.  We're undercover to investigate the high incidence of race-based complaints within Third Marine since Colonel Waters took over.  We're all lawyers, but I'm also a designated Naval Aviator, Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr.  My nemesis over there is Commander Sturgis Turner, a submariner by training before he came up for air and decided law school was safer than the depths of the ocean."

Sturgis shrugged at the momentary flicker of betrayal that showed on Lukas' face and just waited for someone to speak further.

"What about Mrs…Turner?" Connor guessed.

Harm snorted in derisive answer.  

"Hardly," Sturgis managed around a good guffaw.  "Lt. Col. Mackenzie belongs to no one, although she and the commander are…close."

The Marine smiled as he realized something.  "As in, Marine Lt. Col. Sarah Mackenzie?"  Harm and Sturgis looked at Connor in surprise; the man's grin broadened and he sat back in his chair.  "Mac and I served together in Bosnia.  She and I were battalion intelligence officers in the same regiment.  Now that I think about it, I had this odd sense of déjà vu when I met Azaki, but I certainly couldn't place it with Mac."

"It's just too small a world," Sturgis commented.

"Well, small world or not, Commander Rabb, I think you'd better worry about what Lt. Melville said.  Waters has a reputation with the ladies that isn't as pure as the driven snow."

Harm paled; he had managed to put Mac's situation aside to deal with the immediate crisis but now it came at him full force.  "Blanket party," he muttered, and jumped up from his chair with such force that the table careened into Sturgis' stomach with an audible "thock."  "Sturgis, call the admiral!  I'm going after Waters!"

=====

1110 Zulu/0110 Local  
Outside Colonel Waters' Quarters, Marine Corps Base Hawaii

"Lt. Col. Rutter, sir, you asked for a squad of Military Police to meet you here!"  The female gunnery sergeant in charge saluted Harm where the two stood in the parking lot of the Officers' Club.

Waters wouldn't know these MPs were here until Harm was good and ready for him to know.  "Yes, I did.  I want your people deployed around the house.  I have reason to believe that Captain Willard Warren is inside; he is wanted for questioning in a criminal incident earlier this evening.  I also believe that Azizah Yassin is being held inside against her will.  Anyone who comes out gets treated like a suspect until I say otherwise."

"Aye, sir!"

Ninety seconds later, twenty well-trained Marines had vanished into the lush vegetation around the house.

=====

1115 Zulu/0615 Local/0115 Hawaii  
Admiral Chegwidden's Home, McLean, Virginia

AJ Chegwidden rarely slept past 0500.  When he did, it was either because he was ill, which was not the case this time, or because he had a day on which he could relax completely, which was the case this time.  Until the phone beside his bed rang and woke him from a deep sleep.  The combination of the early hour and the day of the week kicked in before he even picked up the received to give him an instinctive knot in his gut.

"Chegwidden."

"Admiral, it's Sturgis Turner, sir."

The normally unflappable commander sounded frantic to the trained ear of the JAG.  "Commander, tell me everything is okay," he demanded of his third senior attorney.

"I wish I could, sir.  It's bad."

"How bad?"  The knot tightened; it felt like the day Bud got hurt all over again.

"Twenty dead enlisted men and women, a capital murder, and seven federal hate crimes all directly connected to Waters, sir."

AJ's brain didn't even register the first part just yet.  "What aren't you telling me?"

In Hawaii, Sturgis swallowed audibly before he answered.  "We think he's holding Mac hostage."

"Oh, dear God."  A moment of silence before the first part hit the admiral.  "Twenty dead?  What the hell happened, Commander?"

Sturgis told him quickly, prompted occasionally by Major Lukas in the background.  "Harm and I told him who we are just before the commander left to find Col. Mackenzie, sir."

"I'm on my way out there, Sturgis.  This could be a scandal of the proportions of Tailhook."

"Yes, sir, I'm afraid it could.  I'm back on my regular cell, sir, so please feel free to use that to communicate.  We'll make sure you get picked up at the airport."

AJ grimaced.  "No need, Commander.  I know the Chief of Naval Air Operations and he owes me a few favors I'm about to call in."

=====

1120 Zulu/0120 Local  
Colonel Waters' Quarters, Marine Corps Base Hawaii

Five men now stood around the spot where Mac lay on the floor of the living room writhing in what they took to be drug-induced ecstasy.  Certainly in the past thirty minutes, they had gotten enough GHB and alcohol into the woman to deaden the pain of Warren's regrettable but necessary lesson in submission.  Mac, however, was just in control enough to know that her only chance to get out without being raped or killed would come if the five men left the living room, and her choice of where to perform had everything to do with where that 9mm pistol was located.

"Do you suppose she's really out of it enough to feel no pain?" one among the men asked.  "And will she remember anything?"

"Doesn't really matter," Warren laughed, breathing heavily as he watched the lithe woman gyrate.  "What she does remember will be all good."

"Ooo rah, captain!"  The youngest member of the group pumped his fist a couple of times.

Waters laughed.  "Okay, men, we need to do a perimeter check before anything else goes down, because this might get a little noisy.  Outside, full sweep," he ordered.

Four sets of eyes gleamed at him as their owners exited the house.

Waters locked the door behind them, thereby leaving them to face an enraged Harmon Rabb, Jr., in the guise of Michael James Rutter, and the Military Police.  He should have locked himself out, too.

Inside the house, Mac reached out for the 9mm with every ounce of strength she possessed, but her endeavors to distract the leering men had sapped her to the barest of reserves and the gun fell heavily into her right hand just as Waters came back into the room.

"Well, Azaki," he said, towering over her.  "I got rid of them.  Tonight is just for us, and I'm going to make you forget you've ever had anyone else inside you."

Horrorstruck, Mac sensed time warp; the colonel stripped in the blink of an eye but her right arm moved up only with agonizing slowness.  He saw the gun as he lowered himself to the floor and reached across her nearly nude body to try to wrest the weapon from her.

With strength born of desperation, Mac held on to the pistol, even when he slapped her hard enough to make her head bounce off the sharp lower edge of the table beside her.  "You miserable slu – "


	14. XIV

_Disclaimers in part I._

The Same Moment  
Outside Colonel Waters' Quarters, Marine Corps Base Hawaii

Harm was screaming into Captain Warren's face when his world shattered with the sound of six rapid gunshots from inside the colonel's house.  His scream became the aching, echoing moan of a name that only he understood as the MPs battered down the front door.

A moment later, a shout from the porch roused the lawyer into action and he leapt up the stairs even as the senior member of the MP unit was finishing her order.  "Call the paramedics!  We've got a gunshot wound and probable rape victim in here!"

"Take me to her," he demanded of the gunnery sergeant.

The sergeant, seeing the silver oak leaf on Harm's uniform cap and the fear in his eyes, motioned for him to follow.  "It's not pretty, sir."

Harm didn't even notice the gore; he was focused on his Sarah.  He moved toward her.

"I'm really sorry, sir, but we can't let you do that.  This is a crime scene."  The gunny grimaced in further apology.  "That's Mrs. Yassin, right, Colonel Rutter?"

It took him a moment to realize that the woman was talking to him about Mac; he was, after all, still undercover for at least a little while longer.  "Uh, yes, Gunny, it is.  Someone should go get Major Yassin and take him to the hospital to meet her."

"Aye, sir."  They watched as the paramedics came in and began to work on the now unconscious woman.  "I think he was the one who pulled the trigger, sir, if it helps."

Harm finally noticed the body slumped between the couch and the coffee table.  It had no face, nor was there much left of the center section of its neck.  "Waters."

"Yes, sir."

"Where is her wound?"

One of the paramedics spoke up.  "Just a scratch, sir, maybe worth a stitch or so on the back of her hand.  She's got some pretty severe internal bleeding, though, and I'd lay odds that she's got some serious illegal drugs in her."  He heard Harm inhale and continued before the officer could blister him for the assumption.  "I don't mean those kind, sir.  I mean Rohypnol or GHB, maybe even both.  And a lot of alcohol."

It was too much.  Harm slid down the wall before the sergeant beside him could catch him, tears streaming down his face unheeded as he watched the competent medics stabilize Mac as best they could.

"You want to ride with us, sir?"  The senior paramedic put a hand on Harm's shoulder a few moments later.

"Yeah," he growled, all thought of anything related to the investigation and the ghastly events on the Island of Hawaii gone from his mind when he saw Mac's pale, bruise-mottled face between orange head blocks on the gurney.

=====

1135 Zulu/0135 Local  
Trauma Center Waiting Room, Tripler Army Medical Center, Honolulu, Hawaii

Sturgis was waiting for Harm and Mac when the ambulance pulled up, and in fact had already told the trauma surgeon the real identity of his incoming patient.  Connor Lukas was with him, as much because he needed to see that his friend and colleague from Bosnia was okay as to provide support for the man he now knew was Sturgis Turner.

"Dear God, Commander.  What the hell happened to her?" the Marine major asked when Harm was shunted away from the treatment area to the nearby waiting area.

"Eugene Waters," was all Harm managed before he broke into angry tears.

Sturgis had heard from Mac how their friend had cried on hearing that Bud would live; these tears surprised him not at all.  "Harm, she'll be fine.  They're the best," he soothed, patting a hunched shoulder.

"She killed him, Sturgis.  He was going to rape her, and she emptied the pistol into him."  Despite the MP squad leader's assessment, he was holding on to the worst-case scenario.

Connor rocked back on his heels.  "That's um…damn, sir," he tried.  "One or two shots are self defense…"

Harm looked up at Lukas.  "He pumped her full of alcohol and God only knows what else and her clothes had been ripped off.  She was laying in his blood in her underwear."  That vision would take a long time to fade.  "It's nothing short of miraculous that she had the wherewithal to fight with him, never mind hang onto the gun long enough to pull the trigger."

"Alcohol?"

Lukas knew, then.  "There was an empty liter of Smirnoff's in front of the couch," Harm confirmed.

"They'll do a complete tox screen, Harm.  We'll know what he did to her soon, and then we can worry about any investigation.  Given what you've said, even if anyone wanted to press charges, it's self defense and you and I could defend her in our sleep."  Sturgis sat down beside his former roommate.  "The admiral is coming out.  He thinks this is going to blow up big."

"He's probably right," Lukas admitted.  "Sure as hell Third Marine won't be ready to deploy in February."

The lawyers' eyes met.  Now, it wasn't just about criminal acts; it was about National Security, too. 

=====

1915 Zulu/0915 Local  
Intensive Care Unit Waiting Room, Tripler Army Medical Center, Honolulu, Hawaii

Sturgis had been able to run only a miniscule amount of interference before the lead agent of the Pearl Harbor NCIS office threatened to hold Harm and him on contempt charges.  That was at 0600; by 0605, he and Harm and Mac were well and truly outted as JAG officers.  That fact wasn't calculated to make the man happy, but there was nothing the civilian could do about it; he groused about the way his own office had been deceived and tried to make Harm talk while the Naval officers and their Marine companion sat in the surgical waiting room hoping for word on the woman who had fatally shot the victim.

Harm had bristled when the agent phrased the question just that way.  "Agent Lee, you need to back off right now.  She's in surgery probably having her spleen removed because the men we have in custody beat her senseless and she has both GHB and Rohypnol in her bloodstream.  We won't even mention her BAC."

"So she was drinking?"

Connor Lukas answered that one before the aviator could strangle the investigator.  "Not willingly.  She's a recovering alcoholic."

"So she slipped off the wagon and – " 

"BACK OFF."  Sturgis stepped into the man's face.  "NOW."

That had ended the questioning; Agent Lee had given up and gone off to pursue another part of the investigation when it became clear that none of the three military officers would speak with him at that time.

The waiting continued after the surgeon came out with mixed news at 0650.  "We didn't have to take out her spleen; we did some suturing of a few medium-sized blood vessels that weren't clotting closed fast enough to make us happy – all laparoscopically, so there's no big incision to worry about.  We also did another CT scan; there's no change there, which means the bleeding in her brain has stopped, but it also means that we'll have to keep watch for pressure in case the blood isn't absorbed.  I'd expect her to be out for at least 24 hours, maybe 36 or even 48 mainly due to the drugs.  We're going to keep her sedated until we can get the concentrations down to much safer levels."  The Army major looked tired, but hope shone confidently in his eyes.  "She's a fighter, this one, isn't she?"

The three men who knew her – two colleagues and one much, much more – all nodded.  Harm asked the question.  "Can I see her?"

"You're Commander Rabb, aren't you?" the doctor smiled.  Sturgis had been quite explicit in his details to the admitting nurse.

"Yes."

"When we get her out of recovery and settled in ICU, I'll give you five minutes with her.  After the first few hours, you can have more time, but short of a flag order to do otherwise, I have to follow procedures."

AJ Chegwidden strode into the ICU at 0910 after four and a half hours in the backseat of an F-14 – mostly traveling at twice the speed of sound – to cover the 4800+ miles between Patuxent River Naval Air Station in Maryland and Barbers Point Naval Air Station in Hawaii.  One look at Harmon Rabb's face told the flag officer everything he needed to know and his first action was to speak with the charge nurse, who paged the surgeon.  Two minutes later, Major Jensen arrived at the nurses' station and after another minute, he came to stand with Admiral Chegwidden in front of Rabb, Turner, and Lukas.

The three officers came to attention with less than their usual military crispness.  AJ waved them off with an easy, "As you were."

Sturgis rubbed his tired eyes and sat down before he furrowed his brow at his commanding officer.  "Didn't I just talk with you at home about 8 hours ago, sir?"

"I'd have been here an hour and a half ago if it hadn't been for flight regs keeping the pilot out of the cockpit until 0900 DC time," the admiral replied with a shrug.  "Major Jensen, if you would."

"Cmdr. Rabb, if you'd like to come in and sit with Col. Mackenzie, you're welcome to do so as soon as we've finished drawing the blood we need."

Harm jumped up and started for the waiting room door, only stopping when his friend and mentor called to him.  "Harm, hold up.  They aren't ready for you yet and I need to speak with you."

"Aye, sir," the handsome aviator replied, sitting down in the chair closest to the door.

The Army surgeon smiled and went on.  "Mac is a very strong woman, both physically and mentally, I can tell.  We're beginning to see signs that the blood in her cranial cavity is reducing, so we aren't as worried about swelling as we were earlier – but that could change, too.  Her pulse is still weaker than we'd like, but it's steady and her blood pressure is coming up slowly.  We'll have the next blood levels in about an hour and that will tell us how well she's metabolizing the drugs.  With any luck, that will be a good fast number and we'll be able to hold on to our hope of bringing her out of sedation early tomorrow morning."

"Doc, if you'd ever seen her eat, you'd know how fast her metabolism is," Connor Lukas laughed.  "She's the only person I know who would eat three MREs at a sitting."

Jensen made a face.  "Well, that tells me a lot about how we'll need to care for her later in the week."

"Week?"  Harm broke his silence.

"Oh, yes – she'll be here for at least 72 hours after she regains consciousness, maybe even 96.  And I don't advise travel under any circumstances until at least 4 full days after she's back with us, even if I let her go after 3."

AJ winced, but neither of his officers nor the Marine with them noticed.  He was now seriously worried about a repeat of the incident on the Seahawk with one of his senior attorneys disobeying a direct order.  This time, though, if it happened there would be no question as to who was DDO.

Harm sighed.  "So we're talking Saturday to go home."

"Yes.  At the earliest.  Now, Admiral, Commanders, Major, if you'll excuse me, I really need to go check on my patient so you can get in there, Mr. Rabb."  The surgeon turned on his heel and returned to the ICU nursing station.

The admiral sat down in the chair next to Harm's new seat and leaned back against the cushioned frame.  "My God, Harm, how do you aviators do it?"

"Saddle sore, sir?"  The somber face cracked a bit of a smile.

"That's one way of saying it.  We tanked five times and those were the only times we weren't supersonic.  But I got to see the sun come up for almost three hours of the flight."  He stretched before he settled on the first bad news of his agenda.  "Gentlemen, I had to make a few deals in order to get here this quickly, even with all the favors the CNAO owed me."

"Excuse me, Admiral, sir, but am I included in these deals?"  Lukas had the typical "no-fear" attitude of Marines.

Startled, AJ lifted his head toward the voice and realized that he hadn't even really noticed the third man sitting in the waiting room with Sturgis and Harm.  "I am so sorry, Major…"

"Connor Lukas, sir.  Mac and I served together in Bosnia.  It was a company in my battalion that suffered the casualties – two of my Marines are still in recovery."  He sighed.  "I'm here with Sturgis and Harm until they're released up here, then I have to go make…bereavement calls."

"I'm sorry, Major Lukas.  Any is too many, and I've had to a few more than one.  You can feel free to ignore us."  He turned his attention back to his staff members.  "As I was saying, I had to make a few deals to get here this quickly."

"We aren't going to like this, are we, sir?" Sturgis asked a beat before Harm could.

"No, Commander, you aren't.  Turner, you and Lt. Cmdr. Manetti will be going TAD to Tokyo to deliver new command structure, Rules of Engagement and Intelligence reporting protocols to the Far East command and will proceed from there to Bahrain to provide the same briefing to the Persian Gulf task force.  Manetti will be here at 1230 and your MAC flight to Tokyo leaves at 1330.  She can brief you in on the flight."

"Joy.  All the way to Tokyo on a military jet.  Not even a chance at a good stiff drink," Sturgis moaned, only half in jest.

"Sorry, buddy," Harm nodded, his face clearly showing the expectation that he would be allowed to stay with Mac.

AJ hated to deny him that chance – his conversation with Trish Rabb after Harm and Mac's visit had been a relief to both mother and commanding officer – but neither work nor war waited for any man, and this was both.  "Well, don't get your hopes up, Rabb."

"Sir?"

_God, it's like I'm taking away his reason to live,_ AJ thought, knowing that in a very real way Harm's life would end if something even more serious ever happened to Mac.  "I'm sorry, Commander, but you're on your way back to Norfolk on a commercial flight at 1430 with the new command structure and Rules of Engagement for LANTFLT.  I'd imagine that you'll be spending a few days leapfrogging across the Atlantic briefing the task forces after that."

The battle was painful to watch, both AJ and Sturgis noted.  The United States Naval Academy graduate would go without question; the man, however, had a greater purpose in his life now – one to which he would finally admit, that is – and that purpose lay behind the doors of the ICU.  The only saving grace, Harm's closest friends told each other with a look, is that the man's greater purpose would chew his ass down to bone if he did something as idiotic as disobeying a direct order because of her, and never mind that she would be just as likely to do the same thing if positions were reversed.

The USNA alumnus won – barely, and obviously conditionally.  "Who will be here when Sarah wakes up?"

Not Mac.  Sarah.  "I will.  I have to explain all this to PACFLT and I get the feeling that the colonel is the only one who knows one significant piece of the puzzle."

Harm nodded.  One more condition.  "Christmas Eve, sir?"

"You'll be home in time for dinner at Bud and Harriet's.  And I promise that National Command Authority himself couldn't get me to send you away from headquarters overnight between Christmas and New Year's."

"Aye, sir."  Harm relaxed a little, but then Mac's assigned nurse appeared at the door and motioned for him to follow her.

=====

2215 Zulu/1215 Local  
Bay 4, Intensive Care Unit, Tripler Army Medical Center

"I don't want to leave you here like this, Sarah," Harm whispered against Mac's ear as he leaned as far across the bed as he could.  He wished he could stretch out alongside her for a few minutes to cradle her still form, to reassure himself that their hearts could still beat in unison, but the medications necessitated an IV line in each arm and one even in her neck, although currently nothing dripped through that particular Heparin lock.  "It's just not fair."

His only answer was the steady, rapid beeping of her heart monitor.  At least she wasn't on a ventilator; he didn't have to listen to the click and hiss of a machine doing that most precious of functions for his beloved.  "I have to go now.  But I promise – Christmas Eve at my place and New Year's Eve at 1789.  I've never made a promise I couldn't keep, and I don't intend to start now."

AJ, watching from the door, blinked back tears as he watched the man he had adopted as a son saying goodbye to a woman they both loved, though in very different ways.  Hearing Harm make his promise to Mac, something that had been bothering the admiral for more than a year and a half snapped into place:  why Harm was so determined to be at Mac's wedding to another when it would have been the single most difficult thing he'd ever done.  She'd made him promise to be there…

Something else hung at the edges of the older man's mind, but it didn't come into focus before Harm turned and smiled his lopsided, self-conscious "you caught me with my emotions showing" grin.  "I'm sorry, Harm.  I didn't mean to eavesdrop."

"It's alright, sir.  Just saying my goodbyes."  He rose from his chair but took hold of one of Mac's limp, unresponsive hands.

"I'm sorry, son," AJ repeated.  "I wish I could have…"

"I know, sir.  Just promise me that you'll be with her when they bring her back."

It was the admiral's turn to smile.  "I promise you that, as I told you before.  Any messages for her?"

Harm thought what to say without embarrassing his CO.  "Well, sir, I guess the first thing is that you're here because you sent me away and that I actually love her enough to have obeyed the order."

They both laughed, knowing she would appreciate the story AJ would tell her about the war of emotions on Harm's face before he relented and agreed to go to Norfolk.

Harm continued after a moment.  "And as for the rest, sir, just hand her cell phone and tell her to check her messages."

"Thank you, Commander," AJ sighed, relieved that he wouldn't have to pass along too much mushy stuff.  It was bad enough talking to Meredith by phone, which he had now done three times; to have to relay the admittedly welcome romantic sentiments of Harmon Rabb, Jr. to Sarah Mackenzie would be a little too much even for someone who thought of them as family.  "Your ride is waiting at the main entrance."  He stepped back into the hall and pointedly turned his back.

Harm smiled again at the action of his mentor before he took the brief opportunity to place a gentle, loving kiss on Mac's faded lips before he let go of her hand and backed out of the room, watching her for as long as he could before he had to turn and walk forward away from her for his own safety.  Along the way, he reached into his pocket and pulled something out.

With a soft smile of his own, and a twist of his teddy-bear heart, AJ watched as his subordinate lifted his dog tags over his head, but then he disappeared from sight.  Only then did he take up his own vigil at his favorite Marine's side.  He wasn't at all surprised when a moment later, From the Halls of Montezuma tweedled softly from her cell phone in her purse on the shelf beside the bed, and that was when the rest of the pieces fell into place.  Mac had made Harm promise to be at the wedding because he would be the one to stop her from marrying a man she didn't love.

=====

1720 Zulu/0720 Local  
Room 245, Tripler Army Medical Center, Honolulu, Hawaii - 17 December 2003

"Admiral!"  Mac responded to the timid knock on the half-closed door with surprise, her voice strong and confident.  "Come on in, sir."

AJ stepped into the room and pushed the door closed behind him.  "I'm sorry to have come so early, Mac, but I've got a full day of interviews and depositions to take and a lead prosecutor to bring up to speed."

She pushed a lock of hair back behind her ear and smiled at her commanding officer from her bed.  "And then you're going back to Washington, aren't you, sir?"

"That's it," he groaned, moving in the rest of the way and settling himself into the bedside chair.  "I am never playing poker with you."  When she laughed, it was close enough to her normal delightful gale that he relaxed a bit, feeling better about leaving her here in the care of Connor Lukas and the chaplains.  "Did you check your voice mail?"

Mac didn't blush very often; it became her tremendously.  "About a dozen times, sir, and I actually just got off the phone with Commander Rabb before you came in."

She had been conscious for about 20 hours and, according to Major Jensen, whom AJ had just seen at the nurses' station, she was making remarkable progress.  "And how is the commander this morning?"

"Do you want the real answer, sir, or the one that's appropriate for the chain of command?"

"That's about what I figured.  Dr. Jensen said last night that he'd consider letting you leave Hawaii earlier if you flew in stages, so I've had Tiner book you a flight to San Diego on Thursday afternoon with overnight accommodations at the Burnett Bed and Breakfast before a late morning flight to Dulles on Friday.  I'll meet you and take you home."  That was to placate Harm, who had been AJ's first call after he left Mac awake, alert, and hungry at the hospital at 1300 the previous day.

"I can't impose on the Bur – " 

"You don't have a choice, Mac."  SEALS could fake Flyboy smiles when they had to, and this was a time to turn on the charm.  "First of all, I'm telling you that you're staying with them Thursday night.  Secondly, Trish is meeting you at the gate by special arrangement and the plane does turnaround service, not continuing service elsewhere, so you have to get off the plane.  Thirdly, I'm sure that you'll have at least one call from Harm telling you that you don't have a choice after he reads his e-mail later today."

"Yes, sir," she all but saluted, and AJ could tell she was tickled at the attention.  "Will it be alright if I write out my report and have it for you on Monday, sir?"

Chegwidden shook his head in confusion before he realized what she meant.  "Hell, Colonel, I don't expect your report until the last working day of the year."

"So, yes, you'd be delighted to get my report that soon or no, don't I dare work on my report while I'm here in the hospital?"  She reached out for the glass of water and took a long sip through the straw.

"Oh, what the hay.  If you want to give me your report on this cluster – um, on this melee a week earlier than necessary, then go for it.  Just don't over do it."

"Aye, sir!"  This time, she did toss him a real but off-kilter salute.  "Thank you, sir."

"For what, Colonel?"

"For being here when you couldn't let Harm stay."

He gave her his best smile and took the hand she offered him.  "Mac, I'd have been here even if he'd been able to stay.  You know that, right?"

She nodded and answered as his softer tone told her she should.  "I do, AJ.  I also know that if it had been in your power to make it happen, Harm would be here now, and that's why JAG is and always will be home."


	15. XV Christmas Epilogue

_Disclaimers in part I._

0135 Zulu/2035 Local  
The Robert's Home, Rosslyn, Virginia – 24 December 2002

Harm's timely arrival had made the evening a success with all concerned, particularly Mac.  She hadn't seen him since the previous Saturday; he would have preferred not to remember the way she looked the last time he saw her that next day.  They hadn't even had a chance for three private words, but from the moment he sat down at the table, they had found ways to connect physically; first it was her slim, stocking-clad feet resting up under his trouser legs at dinner, then it was her hand in his or his hand at the small of her back as the dishes were cleared.  Now, as they sat side by side on the big leather couch in the Roberts' den, her head rested on his shoulder and his arm rested comfortably across her shoulders.  It would do for now, but each knew that there would be many words spoken later.

Warrant Officer Scoggins was gone; his son had called from Buffalo and asked him to try to come to out for Christmas, with his ex-wife's approval and support.  Sturgis would be leaving in a little while to meet his father and sisters before the service, while AJ and Meredith would be going at the same time to meet some of her friends for a while. 

The JAG family had settled in the Robert's den to talk before the larger scale departures began.  As they related the stories of their day, the men and women who served together laughed together, because, really, when you strung the whole day together, it really was just a day of Christmas parodies.

"So the Warrant Officer told me that it was the banging of the old radiator pipes and a stopped watch that convinced him that Harriet's curse had come true," Bud said, relating the story of how dinner arrived in the nick of time.

Harm related the story of his day next, ending with the landing at Pax River.

"You know, Rudolph," began Mac, gazing at Harm with a smile that no one could mistake for mere like, "I'd bet that the Commandant of the Marine Corps might be willing to intercede with the Aviation Review Board - since you did save Christmas."

"Very funny, Marine," he shot back, pulling her noticeably closer.

"Yeah, so, Rudolph, where are your wings, anyway?"  Sturgis couldn't leave that one without comment after all the Alec Baldwin jokes he'd heard in the past five months.

"Well, see, there was this Lt. Clarence – "

Harriet and Bud looked at each other and burst into giggles – "It's a Wonderful Life" had been on TV just before they left to go find out why they had no money in their bank account.  Harm told the story over their laughter, including the bell jingling in the wind after the young man announced his plans to become a Blue Angel.

"And we had the whole Nativity scene in the office," AJ admitted.  "Including the sheep, although I don't think we actually had shepherds."

Jen Coates smiled.  "Unless you count Jason, um, Petty Officer Tiner, sir."  

"Does the fact that Mary and Joseph were evicted because he was practicing the drums make him the Little Drummer Boy, too?" Meredith queried, having heard a far more detailed version of the story from AJ earlier.

Sturgis pursed his lips and huffed out a breath.  "No, I don't think Joseph and the boy can be the same."

Harm and Mac traded looks.  "Harriet," Mac nudged her friend with a long, svelte leg, "we need to make a clean sweep of this.  Let Little AJ open the smaller package from Harm and me."  Mac had been in charge of shopping after a flurry of e-mails Sunday between the Coral Sea and Georgetown.

A few moments later, the Little Drummer Boy serenaded the grown ups on his brand new toy drum, even managing to get some of the "rum pa pum pums" in while the group sang for him.

As Sturgis, AJ, and Meredith were putting their coats on, AJ stopped suddenly and looked at the men and women of his command and the others who had become near and dear to all of them.  "Do you know what happened to us today?" he demanded.

Mumbles of "no, sir," and "sir?" swept the front hall and den.

"A Christmas episode for a television show."  He smiled.  "A damned well done one, as a matter of fact." 

=====

0630 Zulu/0130 Local  
Harm's Apartment, North of Union Station, Washington, D.C. – 25 December 2002

Harm made Mac stand down the hall from his apartment for almost two minutes before he beckoned her to his door and opened it for her with a flourish.

"When did you have time to do all this?" Mac murmured to Harm, seeing the Christmas wonderland before her.  She stepped inside, her mouth open in surprise and delight as she took in the hundreds of white lights strung around the whole space and the beautiful, white and gold decorated 7-foot tree along the glass wall that separated his living room from his bedroom.

"The truth?" he asked just as quietly, taking her coat from around her shoulders as she stepped out of her shoes.

"Of course."

"Thanksgiving weekend.  I thought of you with every light I put up and every decoration I hung on the tree."  He finished sliding her overcoat into the closet, then turned to her and picked her up so her head went right to his shoulder.  "I've been wanting to do this…"

His words melted into her lips; he staggered for a moment from the shock of the searing power of the kiss before he could carry her to his couch, where he sat down with her in his lap without breaking the deep, celebratory passion.

"I love you, Harm," his Sarah said when she pulled away a long moment later.

He smiled and didn't try to hide the tears that glittered in the dim white lights of the Christmas decorations.  "Oh, Sarah.  My sweet, beloved Sarah," he whispered with a low tremor of desire.  "I love you."  They sat for a time, listening to the ease with which their hearts beat together before he remembered what he wanted to do.  "I'll be right back.  Don't move," he instructed her, setting her down on the sofa and leaning in for another intense kiss before he left her for a few minutes.

When he came back, he was wearing his dress whites, complete with another set of wings in place over his heart, and was carrying the biggest Christmas stocking he'd been able to find between the time she left and the time he left to meet her in San Diego.  The stocking, fully four feet long and two feet wide, was stuffed with oddly shaped wrapped items, topped by a single perfect red rose.  The look on Mac's face made it all worth it; Harm wondered if she would get the reason for his attire right away or if she would wait in suspense while she opened the contents of the monstrous, personalized red and white knit sock.

"Harmon Rabb, Jr., what in the world?" she finally managed to ask, laughing at her man as he dragged the thing to the couch.

"Well, Sarah Mackenzie, as I recall, someone very special to me requested a Christmas tree and a stocking.  So I figured I'd better comply."  He placed the big bag at her feet.  "Go to it, honey."

First, she lifted the rose out, held it to her nose and inhaled its delicate scent.  Then, with an irrepressible smile, Mac reached for the first package.  She took her time unwrapping it, knowing that Harm was fidgeting beside her.  She opened the box to reveal an 8.5x11" picture frame decorated with palm trees and seashells.  "This is really pretty, Harm," she said, thinking about the gift to him he hadn't even seen yet and how they had a theme already with pictures, whatever else may come.

"Keep going," he demanded, handing her the next box.  That contained an illustrated acrostic of her name, one he had obviously provided to the artist.

"'Squared-away, Angelic, Ravishing, Atomic clock, Harm's.'  I think that pretty much covers it," she said dryly, trying not to let the laughter out lest he take it the wrong way.

"As long as the last one is true, the rest of it matters not at all," he replied as he tickled the back of her knee.  He could tell she wanted to laugh, and that had been his point.  "Next."

Still giggling from the tickling, she took the next package, which was a foot cube box wrapped in iridescent gold paper.  It wasn't very heavy and its contents didn't shift or rattle when she shook it.  "At least I know it isn't a law book," quipped the delighted Marine as she carefully slit the tape on one end with a polished fingernail.

"Okay, when I said 'Squared-away', honey, I didn't mean you had to be that way with the wrapping paper."

"But it's so pretty," she countered, pulling away the last of the tape and whipping the paper away from his outstretched hands.  "Now, sir, your pocket knife, please."

Harm smiled and reached for the instrument on the table behind him.  "I thought fast enough to leave it there when I stopped by to change earlier," he explained to her quizzical look as he handed it to her.

A moment later, the box was open and Mac pulled out a teddy bear.  Not just any bear – a custom-made plush bear wearing the most adorable set of Navy dress whites and gold wings she'd ever seen.  Even the white shoes were "regulation".  The dog tag read, "Commander 'Flyboy' Rabb".  "Oh, Harm," she whimpered, hugging the bear to her.  "He's wonderful!"

"Thank you," he replied, and leaned over to kiss her lips quickly.  "More of that later," he added when she tried to pull him back to her.  "You still have a stocking to empty."

The next box was identical except that the paper was green.  "Let me guess, 'Lt. Col. 'Ninja Girl' Mackenzie."  She didn't wait for his answer, instead tackling the tape with fevered anticipation.  Sure enough, the bear inside wore an exquisite replica of her Marine Corps formal mess dress, complete with long skirt, scarlet cummerbund, and black patent leather pumps that sparkled almost as much as Harm's eyes when she looked up at him.  "There's no tag," she pouted.

Harm frowned.  "We'll get one, don't worry.  Go on, there's a few more things in the sock down here."

The next two boxes were pretty obvious in shape, but each contained not what its design would indicate but a promise to go shopping with her – "in hopes of loading your closets with comfortable shoes."

"See, I do listen," he told her.

"Yes, you do.  I am deeply touched by all of this, Harm.  You took a lot of time to set this up."

"I did have some help," he admitted, "but you can hear about that much later today.  There's still a few more things left."

The admiral had, in fact, been instrumental in the next part.  She opened the stationery box to unveil a picture of the two of them taken by one of Waters' henchmen.  He had captured them with a telephoto lens just as they were breaking a kiss on the front porch of the "Yassin's" house; in the picture, her eyes are half-closed and her lips swollen, while he looks for all the world as though he's dizzy with desire.  Which, in fact, he had been.

"I think," she started hoarsely, then cleared her throat and wiped at a tear, "that this one will not go to the office."  She found the palm tree frame and slipped the picture inside.  "That goes beside my bed."

If all went as he hoped, there would be one on each nightstand beside their bed in the not too distant future.

The penultimate thing was a bright red gift bag that held several items within.  The first was a bottle of rosemary scented massage oil.

"Rosemary?"

"It's not a girly scent, so we can both enjoy it."

She started to reply, but no sound came out when she realized what he meant.  With flushed cheeks, she dug into the bag again and pulled out a fairly heavy bag of Lindt chocolate truffles in her three favorite flavors – dark chocolate, mint, and white chocolate.  She flashed a radiant smile that spoke volumes to the man beside her as she reached into the bag again.  There were two pieces left; she went for the boxed one.

She had no words; the tears began in earnest and he just held her for several minutes while she cried, clinging to him and to the bottle of perfume called "Eternity."

When she had cried enough and kissed him with a passion deeper than any they had yet experienced, she wiped her eyes and gave him the high wattage smile that made his heart flip-flop in his chest.  "Thank you," she whispered.  "Now I think I can go on with the rest of this."  The last piece in the bag came out wrapped in silver tissue paper; she didn't even try to be neat about opening it.  She looked up at him from the revealed contents with a delighted yet somewhat confused smile.

"You said if you left me a bra when you went away, it wouldn't be black, Sarah," Harm explained.  "So I went to Victoria's Secrets and just looked and imagined until I found the perfect set."

"Shall I model it for you?"  She held up the opalescent cream lace bra and demi-shorts, knowing that the tone and color would make her glow when she put it on.

Harm took a deep breath and held it for a long moment before he let it out slowly, knowing that she would guess why it was necessary.  "I actually," he managed to say in a tightly controlled voice, "have something specific in mind in terms of when you can model that for me."

"Oh."

He saw something click in her mind and watched as she brought a hand to the perfect "O" her lips made when she realized what had to be in the last box in the stocking.  Dress white, gold wings, a rose; shoes, chocolate, a reminder that her career was going places.

She wasn't moving, so he bent down and picked up the last box for himself.  It wasn't wrapped; jewelry boxes speak for themselves.  But this one didn't say it in exactly the way one might think.

Harm caught her chin in his warm hand and looked deeply into her infinite brown eyes.  "Sarah, I love you.  You are my reason for getting up in the morning, my reason for dreaming at night.  You are the very air I breathe and when we're apart, I feel like I'm suffocating.  Would you do me the honor…" he moved to open the box with both trembling hands, "…of putting this tag on your bear?"

For a moment, he thought he'd struck out in the bottom of the ninth with the bases loaded, down by three.  She didn't move for the longest time; when she did, it was to take the bear-sized dog tag from the box and dangle it from her finger.

Mac watched him and knew immediately what was going through his head.  But she couldn't let him off too easily.  "You know, I thought there might be something else in that box."

Salvaging his pride, Harm swallowed and began, "Sarah, I – "

She silenced him with a feathery fingertip drawn across his lips, tantalizing him with promise.  "Let me read it."  She lifted it up and made a show of finding good light in which to read the words.  "Just like I thought.  'Lt. Col. Sarah 'Ninja Girl' Ma…Mackenzie Rabb.'"  Her eyes flew open.  "Are you…"

"I want you to model the lingerie on our wedding day, Sarah.  Marry me, my princess, my beloved."  Harm held out the box to her again, this time without the inner velvet piece.

And this time, after he kissed the elegant gold ring into place on the fourth finger of her left hand, he didn't stop her when she bent to kiss him.

Fine 


End file.
